Coffee

Neither dark nor light
but a cloudy medium.

Swirling around at the bottom of my cup
like milky thoughts that refuse to surface.

Warm and comfy
like a worn-out sweater faded to perfection,
it blankets me,
a silky smooth embrace, delicate and gentle.

Drops of milk
pooling onto the dark surface,
sinking silently towards of the bottom
of the cup, of my mind,
leaving an echo of what was.

Coffee
A counterfeit form of energy,
like maybe if I drink enough
I’ll stay awake.
Like maybe if I drink enough
my ideas will awake
and I’ll be able to say the things i’ve always wanted to say.

Coffee
Scalding liquid like the opinions I will not voice;
burning my throat on the way down as I swallow.
Blistering agony,
my throat is raw
with the heat of the things I refuse to say.

Coffee
Heavy with bittersweet thoughts ,
they refuse to pass my lips.
Seeping through the cracks on my mouth,
words dribble out and spill onto the table
in small droplets of strong emotions.

Coffee
Neither light nor dark
but a cloudy medium.

When will I be able to to look down into my cup
and actually see my reflection?