PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i was reading Bukowski,

laughing maniacally at his tormented prose,

and it dawned on me that i hadn’t had

my morning cup of coffee;

i hadn’t had a morning for that matter,

unless you count restless stirring

in bed as morning.

it’s half past eight and i think

i’ll have that coffee,

two tablespoons full

of freshly ground beans

brewing a pleasant odor

like the morning i forgot to wake up for.

no cream, no sugar.

i prefer it black. 

i prefer it bitter.

the coffee tastes like shit,

warm, watered down shit;

i drink it anyway.

six empty bottles sit on my coffee table,

vestiges from a previous night of escapism;

i’m not hungover anymore

but Christ i was yesterday!

i smoke my second cigarette,

killing myself,

wishing it would come faster.

no tears today,

i’m too damned depressed to cry

and just empty enough to write.