Dear Me,

Yes you. You handsome ****.
I can't seem to find our sanity or our sleep.
It's around here somewhere, I hope.
Or it's been lost...back then.

Back where we were, in the shiny place.
Our sanity was drowned in coffee.
Our sleep was destroyed by love.

So many things back there.
I feel like I'm searching, like an old man
trying to find his keys.
Then he stops where he stands and remembers.

He remembers fondly, yet with a hollow heart
all the time spent happy in that place.
Where is it?
Is that where we left it?

Lord knows its not there anymore.

I would sacrifice the infinite vastness of space,
For an infinite amount of time instead.

What good is going somewhere
If you know you'll arrive dead.

But what is really living,
"It's the journey" and taking that risk.

Should we spend all of time standing still and content?
Or miserable on an endless journey to possible happiness?

A poem about coffee
How cheap
How over used
A poet speaking on coffee
Is like a politician making a promise

But this is where we live
Our inner self brought out by consuming
Coffee, *****, drugs, love....

Pick your poison and get writing.