Silence wraps like a see-through coat
Breath dissolves in the air a dotted line afloat
Fingerprints on the jar no one wipes them away
Conversations hang like expired specimens in decay
Neon pierces my chest casting shadows so bare
Memos pile up with good mornings I never share
On the twelfth floor the elevator doors slide
Carrying away the shapes of what could've been inside
The second hand chews through the noise of delay
Echoes feel more real than the presence they portray
Im the dotted line the city folds
A torn note cut by the stares it holds
When all the streetlights lose their voice
Thats when my outline finds its poise
The vending machine swallows coins with a clink
My reflection stuck on the third one I think
The forecast says its one hundred percent clear
Raindrops write my epitaph as they disappear
The museum of fingerprints an empty display
Holds all the dates that never found their way
Silence spreads in latitude and longitudes span
A coordinate lost in an unclaimed abysss plan
Im the dotted line the city folds
A torn note cut by the stares it holds
When all the streetlights lose their voice
Thats when my outline finds its poise
Morning light kisses the window frame
A half fingerprint lingers on the coffee cups rim
Existence fades like a sandcastles trace
Dissolving in the blind spots of every gaze