i may as well been have been a runaway
isn't that what you used to say?
you laughed at everything i kept with me 
every pocket on my purse filled purposely
you said you thought i was kind of crazy. 
do you still think it's funny to know all that i keep?
you're the only memory i ever tried to repeat

it's not that i'm hurt and can't tell
i just don't sleep well
don't say i don't know what my words are doing
don't say you want to figure me out
you left 
it's too late to put any pieces together
i wouldn't let you in anyway

Been writing lately. 

You know those days. For a while you think you've lost yourself in what is material. When you're on routine. When you've ran out of cash. I'm completely broke and I find myself scrapping together coins because I want to get a sushi roll for $13 and a tip. My Dolce & Gabbana perfume, whose bottle will soon be empty, smells old on my cardigan and I want to spray more. I want a new bottle. Coins. I want to be fabulous. 

What the fuck is that anyway. 

I wonder what it is I am doing. Coins. Where I am going. Coins. How much money I need. Coins. When I'll start feeling like I am truly living my life instead of waiting for my life to start.

I know what I need. Coins.
I know what I don't need. It's everything I keep spending my coins on.