Coffee.

So much caffeine
went inside me,
piled up in a corner
assimilating sleep.

Coffee was painting
the shades of it
the ripples
the stains the cup left

Somehow my life
had come to circle around coffee,
nights spent in solitude
in company of coffee
my cracked face
reeked of coffee
my eyes felt sagged
as it went in

Writing
with it stirring in the
oesophagus
and caffeine in the brain
wasn’t active ecstasy
or passion;
it was passive,
almost mechanical;
like electromagnetic waves
pervading from brain.

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