I find you in songs stumbled upon,
The smell of sweat and cheap detergent
And the sound of Pink Floyd and Dawes.
In the smell of ***,
Your sisters backpack rotting in my basement
And the picture of us my mother kept.
In the photographs I swore I burned,
The loneliness of cold showers
Parties, Austin and button up shirts.
In the poems I still write,
The pills I still take
And the black nail polish you liked.
In shirtless men with hairy chests,
The mention of a Cubs game
And the crevasses of my consciousness.  
In my present I find our past,
The relics of a romance
And the memories that last.

[The lines of the hands formed a complex map]

Reality strikes
The days pass by
Two lines
Different seasons
Separate stations

[Reality hitting on the rocks]

Curve line erasing the good things of the past
2 drops of water falling on the way to the office
  |        |
  |        |
  |        |  Old soundtrack passes over parallel tracks
Theater full, broken line

Days pass and pass
Birthdays pass, not words
Difficult to pretend to be well
No words happen

Places I’m not, line closed
Places you are not, closed line

Romanticism doesn’t feel the same as maps on our maps
2 parallel drops fall
|                               |
The game hits me against the rocks
You don’t follow me in a straight line

[Reality catches me]

there are no words
there is nothing
thick fog

The same lines
Now they are parallel
Your reality hits

[The lines in my hand no longer form a map]

   - Codelandandmore // 4:00 PM ©

I could tell you about what came my way
But its more about listening,
See am a cab driver for a day,
And there's more to it than driving,

I get all sorts of customers,
Angry, kind and loners,
Some talk about life, troubles and ******,
Others gossip about their loud neighbours,

So i get to listen to it all,
Share their lives and mysteries they bestow,
Share their feelings and emotions,
Til the moment they close my door,

I see their faces as they get in and out,
I smile away just to get my cut,
But every now and then,
Door opens for someone who listens,
An angel if you might,
And you my dear,
Is that person tonight,

She covers me like frost when it sets in fresh,
I've been barely breathing since the day she almost left.
I've been at a stand still in quicksand; sinking fast,
I wish I could take a pill to let go of the past.

The blame game, has got it's newest saint,
forever in denial of all mistakes.
The blame game, always takes on my name,
forever in debt for all heartbreaks.

My visible breath spills secrets of another life,
a person you've never met but call your wife.
Brokenhearted and destined to be a knotch on a long, long belt,
Dearly departed with distance and it's the closest you've ever felt.

The blame game, has gained it's newest saint,
forever forgetting the dealt pain.
The blame game, takes on none the same,
forever drowning in the falling rain.

She paints me solid in the blackest of tar,
I fell for all of it but fell down too far.
There is something left but just too small to ever grasp,
I won't be the one to confess, with my dying rasp.

I sang the song of the lonely oceans
Where heartbroken words are drowned
In the deepest darkest place of emotions
Where I screamed without a sound

I longed for you to hear my voice
My inner screams suffocating
Our broken love was not my choice
But I suffer my turmoil within