I am a plastic bag.
I am not just a late autumn leaf swept up by fall winds and you are not just a figment of my imagination.
I was used to the best of my abilities and tossed out the window replaced by another nylon pouch with a zipper you are confident in undoing.
Your veins make up the dreamcatcher I keep on my bedside table to collect the memories I was once so fond of.
I kept your secrets, your trust, lies, casualaties and love tight on my embrace until I could not hold any longer.
I am a plastic bag.
I float on winds of whispers from city to city, each more excruciating than the last, trying to find my way back to you
Where you are a polaroid taken again, modeling the perfect pose to take the girl of your choice home for the night.
A girl that will place cosmetics, such as the red lipstick she'll kiss upon your face, and the Maybelline eyeliner that'll smudge on your pillow case in the morning in a purse made from the finest cows.
I am a plastic bag