Dead Weight

Idle Coffee

Dead weight centered in the left

I put in headphones to block out the sound

Coffee sitting idly on the counter

An itching feeling around the corners of my eyes

Next morning blues settle in

As pinky brushes scalding hot cup,

I think about how much I want to get drunk

Lost within that dead weight I find

I’m utterly obsessed with pain.

Throughout time there have been little ticks

Little helpers to continue it

Little helpers to ease it

Little helpers to make pleasure of it

Ah yes, these are the tools

They aren’t so great, but hey

Guys got to survive somehow, right?

What I’d give to have those nights back

Southern Comfort drenched beauty

Curly noir hair bouncing on her head

She had such a terrible way about her

Couldn’t hold her drink as well as she claimed

Whether from the mix or just from the drink, I don’t know

What I know is:

She was a good time

When she wasn’t being a *****.

Carpet folds beneath little pale feet

I finally take a sip of that idle coffee

It’s more watered down than usual

Knuckles beg to be cracked

The morning mourning follows an endless track

As I text and type my sorrows and pleasures,

I think about how I always yearn for some solace given by another

Cringing at the thoughts just beneath the surface, crying:

YOU WON’T FIND COMFORT HERE