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