I live in his mind The spaces between old lovers and shower thoughts His mind is my favorite past time The way he sees this numb world In road signs and rooftops He sees complexity in my dreary brown eyes
I travel through his day dreams Searching through his thoughts like a filling cabinet of Manila folders Ilooking for my name But it’s wasn’t my name… It was hers.. Every memory of us shoved in th back of the drawer while frantically try to resurface them She is embroidered in every thought Her name written in cursive
His mind isn’t for me as much as I craved it My name scribbled over and hers In cursive It was a spinning wheel of re used compliments The same flirty comments and phrases I’ve hear I just happened to land on the same ones she did But somehow they did seem reused to me
Maybe I am a synonym with dull connotations Nothing but a cliche girl who loved to much But at least In his mind I existed My consciousness only defined by old snapshots Hoping in some small way a codependent existence meant something
I used to vist his mind as a reminder that I meant something to him That this love wasn’t my creation I replayed his memories of us like vhs tapes Cut and polished into perfection
He wrote pretty in black paint markers on those god awful yellow post notes But now I see was just another note on his cork board Never important enough to be stuck with red push pins the way she was The edges folded over burried under Polaroids and dried flowers I clung to every lie hoping it would be enough My hands blistered I let go Falling into the void
I won’t search for my name between lost thoughts I cannot live in his reflection Proof of my existence wasn’t enough It’s was a minimum I learned to love But starvation kills slowly And He may forget me But I will never
I remember knocking on your office door to bring you coffee or ask about work The response was always the same Another closed door and a scholding But the next day I’d run back knocking I defended you to my friends Made them think you were the perfect father Not the drunk one Coming home at four in the morning Not the father who I’d hide from behind a locked door from Not the father I had I learned to play these games in my hard I created versions of you who would hug me when I came to the door and push my hair behind my ears You’d actually know how old I am A father that would know how to fill out the questioner sheet at the doctors But a frog will always just be a frog Not a fairy tale prince So I stopped knocking and learned to let the scilnce sing me to sleep
I wake up to find myself alone in our bed The right side of the bed still made It’s cold without your warm embrace I reach out hoping to find the slightest hint of you But I’m just humoring my grieving thoughts I know the bed will stay unmade I still smell your perfume on my bed sheets Tears flow out of my eyes while the raindrops flow off the roof I wondering if the clouds miss you like I do The wind howls for you The flowers don’t bloom the same The world slowly stops spinning without you And I am left in this cold empty bed
Missing you is a different type of poison It’s moves slowly creeps into my vains It drowns my lungs It’s toxicity doesn’t have a simple antidote And everlasting cycle of relapse
Missing you is a record on repeat The words distorting The music slowly fades into my mind The repetition stable never shifting
Missing you is a step away from a cliff Willing myself to jump back into your arms But the pain of my landing circles my mind holding me back
Missing you is the quiet nights Silent thoughts and another drink This ones to you and the love we almost had
