Morning Coffee.

I wake up in the morning, and I sip my coffee.
Fill the cup, drink it up, repeat.
Each day blending together like milk and sugar, trying to sweeten up this black heart.
I think I need to make another cup.
I’m so tired. The coffee doesn’t seem to help anymore, but I take another sip.
Drinking it up, every time; sweetening it more and more. But, I’m still exhausted.
I add more sugar to make my heart beat faster, and so I can taste something sweet.
My heart is racing, and my mind consumed with wanting you.
Maybe it’s the caffeine.
I go back to sleep. He’s in my dreams.
Wake up; time for more coffee; time to distract myself with work.
Why haven’t I heard from him?
Am I too self aware or is it my third cup of coffee that’s giving me anxiety?
I’m tired of liars.
I’m tired of feeling like I need coffee to wake up, when it’s him keeping me up at night.
He should be here; his kiss warming up my lips; his sweet words spilling down my throat, and his hand the mug between fingers.
I drink coffee to convince myself everything is fine; but I think I’m just building up a tolerance for temporary energy.
I’m out of milk. I’m out of excuses for him, and this coffee tastes bitter.
I run to the store, time to replenish my empty shelves.
I’ve been trying to find whatever I’m looking for. Maybe aisle three?
Coffee keeps me warm at night, but I wake up in a cold sweat.
He’s not my cup of tea. I think I’ll try some chamomile.
I’d rather be steeping in confidence, and soaking up the idea, “I deserve more.”
He woke me up this morning; woke me up with a gentle kiss on the forehead.
His darkness roasting my soul, and making me feel alive.
But today, I don’t want the temporary relief.
Today, I don’t want the artificial sweetener.
Today I’m thirsty, but I think I’ll have some tea.



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