Somewhere along the line,
between my rented room and credit card,
I’d left myself between the seat and the door
of my mom's parked blue Toyota.
I’d left myself between the cushions
of a thrown out green couch.
I’d left myself between two friends,
whose last names aren’t the same.
I’ll remember it soon enough.
When I hear the chorus play.
That the words I type on my work computer,
will not take the pain away.
