kelland

Where did I misplace things? I must've left them on the hill. By the water. My car is parked a mile away. I must've forgotten the things when I started the engine and backed out of the drive. I must've lost the things when I fell asleep with the TV on after a long night at work. Where did I misplace things? Did I leave the things when I agreed to a fixed wage? Did I leave the things when I shoplifted the lipstick? I must've left them in the theatre, in the back row, not even eyeballing the screen. I must've dropped them off when I dropped off the movies that are yours. I must've forgotten them when I decided to sleep on it for a second, third, fourth time... then I woke up and forgot the things at the sink with the suds and the dirt. Where did I misplace things? I must've misplaced them while making ice cream, while building intricate designs, while sitting and waiting and writing. I must've left them at the polls. With the ink. Beside the porn. I left these things on the phone, on the screen, in the park, in the car, at your house, at his and his and her house. I can't get them back. They aren't coming back. I need new things. I need better things. I deserve a lot of different things. I've misplaced everything that I had, everything I was, and everything I am to be something more. But I came up short.