I keep having these memories
of whose I do not know
to whom they do belong to
of this my mind won’t show
will you help me friend
decode the message I have seen
I cannot do this on my own it seems
the walls are caving in
The vision is getting brighter now
while all else slips away
let me tell you of my vision friend
before there is none else I can say



I am driving down the road friend
of this I cannot forget
The road starts shrinking
to as small as it can get
I try to keep my wheels straight
but against my will my grip begins to slip
careening off the road
through traffic cone and traffic cone
suddenly I stop
this is where it gets fuzzy
the man who was next to me is no longer there
he lies in front of my vehicle glass tousled in his hair


This is no confession
for I know I have not sinned
these are not my memories
yet I feel the pain they bring
I am good my friend
I pray, I laugh, I care
I am one of the right ones
I have made it this far and I will make it further
I am what’s right
So why must I see these wrongs
This is not my memory
and I will drink until I believe that

I killed a butterfly today  
then tried to write a poem  
I don’t know why I did it  
It died without a home  
It struck me as compelling  
as I recalled what my parents used to say  
be mindful of your surroundings  
a flap of butterfly wings can change a day  


I thought little of it then  
yet now I obsess as I reminisce  
if a butterfly flap can change so much  
what of the absence of it?  
Have I sealed my fate to infamy  
or paved my way to riches  
but maybe if I **** another?  
my unforeseeable fate switches  


But what’s a butterfly to me?  
it wasn’t much before  
now you expect me to believe  
it holds the key to what’s in store?  
Free will must exist  
at least as long as I believe it to  
foolish of me to think my dead butterfly  
could have some affect on you  


Yet I sit here thinking  
of thoughts I’ve never had  
a liar I would be to tell you  
that I haven’t changed a tad  
It did not have a name  
and I did not have a reason  
yet as I blankly stared down  
I felt as if I had committed treason  


So I sweep away the body  
and leave the room to clear my head  
if my hand’s never clapped  
this butterfly would not be dead  
so be wary of the change you bring  
the waves you choose to make  
that butterfly could have changed a day  
and not believing that was my mistake