jessewestend

On a rack in a lonely diner sit fifty coffee cups in rows of five
in the middle rack, in the middle of the middle row,
sits the oldest cup in that lonely dive,
porcelain stained by caffeine dreams
it holds the echo of a million silent screams
tonight it occurred to me how many lips had met
its yellowed, off-white edge
never thinking of what their mouth was doing
so many patrons, eating and smoking
but never thinking of what their mouth was doing...

I've drank a lot of coffee in my time
i've held a lot of cups
but tonight it hit me,
i'm all out of warmth
empty
all out of love.

I don't need
a trite metaphoric self fulfilling prophecy
making you out to be a pot of coffee
brewed especially to complete me
I won't write
a play on words describing my skin of cold porcelain
or how your love could fill me up with warmth
no
honestly,more than anything
I just want a napkin.
to wipe myself clean
thats a lot of fucking germs


For the uninitiated this poem was a bit of a joke. don't read too much into it.

15 days