Stuck between spaces and memories,
my butterfly flies.
Wings of time.

no not one place where the butterfly flies to rhymes.
No sentences, no books written.

Messing up memory lanes, folding them up like crumpled paper.
The creases distorting signal lines,
and I couldn't seem to recognise the times.

Scribbled lines, blinding my sight.
my butterfly flies through my mind, my memory fading, lights dimming, house lights flicker.

fire still burning.
no longer in a pod.
Just living for God.

if i remember anything else.
only you God.
i want to remember.