My coffee, reflects my romance. A Dark and bitter taste in my mouth. As my supposed twisted soul, black as my unfeeling and dead heart,(well that’s what they told me…) Black as my inadequate feelings. Why then, is it me that finds, no sugar will ever sweeten that long and bitter aftertaste. Leaving its lingering palate, from each fresh betrayal.
When, what I really sought out was so hot, so rich and intense, not the dizzying cream swirls, that twist and blur in the mug. Like boiling storm clouds. In depths of a confusion. An effort to lighten moods, frustration, it just stirs faster.
I didn’t want the dark hurting, akin to the painful scald, a sudden and nasty shock, from a too hot a drink, spilled and upended in a lap. My coffee cup it seems, reflects my soul now.. and all of my heart now.. Mustn’t forget those feelings. Now hollow, just empty.
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