To Kill A Butterfly

it comes alive in the night
and grows
like a bonfire
smoking dreams of
false tomorrows.
but like me, we know 
tomorrow's a mystery
filled with uncertainty 
and butterflies that fly 
out the back of your throat
and they gloat you
fluttering their wings
with coulda beens and shoulda beens
and this is all just talking about me. 

 

I always tell myself that
I'll slap em out the air
but by the end of the day
my hands are still clean.

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741