You ask me to tell you my story
So you can scan it and move on to the next book.
But I cannot be your Sunday read.
I can only be your Sunday coffee.

What makes you think I’ll let you have a taste.
So you can spit me out and never try again?
I know you’re not in the place to try something new,
So I’ll save you from trying me.

I’ll save you from the sweetness,
The aftertaste of me lingering throughout.

How strongly I crave your bitter taste.
When I can’t sleep on Sunday night.
When I can’t cope with reality.
And I pull you towards me in the hopes of getting a taste,
Only for you to burn my tongue.

When you come around again I’ll go for another sip
In the hopes that someday you’ll keep me warm and alive
Instead of burning my insides