coffee cups in cold climates


coffee cups in cold climates
an empty, messy house
a mind, also messy, full of debris
it’s all a waste
this existence seems a waste
you call me but i’m on the bus and hear nothing
but your sweet voice
your sweet presence
and then i see her troubled face
i see her smile portray nothing but pain
i want to reach out to you both
and others
and i do
but i am rejected
merely a body in a bar besides others
like meat hanging from hooks
we grasp at moments
we grasp at phantoms and pretend we’re happy
try to convince ourselves that life is worth it
and so I pace this tiny room
these tiny rooms which are really one
i walk to the door and back
too much time
too much thought
too much wine and wishing that you would call
and yet so fickle
so terrified of it all
you looked so thin today
but my reaching hands couldn’t reach
didn’t dare
it’s just me
stuck here while you’re there



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