Pour your pain into my mug.
Let it steep until it’s as bitter
as the red wine sipped by new lovers
or the coffee drank by the lonely man.
Let it steep until it’s too strong to taste.


Then let me sip it slowly
while my lips curl away in disgust.
Still, I’ll force it down ignoring
how tepid and foul
the taste of your pain coating
my throat might be.

I’ll breathe in the toxins,
allowing them to fill my insides with the wafting
vile stench of your struggles
until my head spins and my vision blurs.

Let me free you from your sorrow;
until it corrupts my heart,
intrudes my impenetrable armour,
eats me alive,
and rots me from the inside out.