caffeine and nicotine were two things i want to write about this morning
when i saw my ash tray empty on the coffee table last used on September
caffeine and nicotine were the drugs on my blood until 19
now the cups are filled with just hot chocolate madness and mornings were never been the same
i looked up to the unmade but pure white bed where pillows were distorted holding a lot of nightmares
sheets were moved, i am not dead.
the rays of the sun were striking in it with full glory that it was reigning with a bright yellow and sharp sunlight
indeed it was beautiful and majestic
cigarette butts were once accidentally puffed in this bed that made me mad because i hate the smell of the ash traces in the room
only because it makes me want to light one stick more
this room were once filled with the smell of the fresh brewed coffee beans lingering on your morning nose
but now they're all gone and this room is empty and dull, ghosted yet remaining silent
not talking about the obvious traces of how the room changed from how you made them until how you left them
like a child deprived of parents
now the ashtrays were empty because i puffed my cigarettes on the bed,
and how like how i was afraid of it, i consume a pack now—doubling what i used to have
and i made no coffee from the day after you left because i hate the smell of beans
how they remind me of you and how we were happy in front of the **** coffee maker machine
hot chocolate made me sleepy at night and a lot of cigarettes could've brought me nausea
yet i have nothing in mind but how you smiled when taking smokes
and caffeine and nicotine may change a lot in this room
the memory of you is the one i always see when i look at the bed
your laughs are ghosts on the ashtrays
and the sunlight just makes me cry
because i know that a lot of tomorrows will come but i will never smell fresh brewed coffees
made by you