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.