Taking care Of your Cup of coffee Is simple Gently stir To keep it Consistent Slowly Take a sip Don't burn yourself Add some sugar Just as much as You need to When it's Getting cold Heat it back up And if you Truly love your Cup of coffee You'll always Find a way
Love is a working process. It doesn't matter how hard it gets. Love takes love.
They say “an apple a day keeps the doctor away”. The metaphorical epitome of health resting on a single fruit. A single object. A single piece. A single phrase. Everything relies on something simple. Everything can be changed with something simple.
A life can be saved with a word. A hand. A smile.
But why is it that when we need, just this one apple, this one simple object to change everything, it is not there?
On the uplifting days we have a supply of apples readily available, yet on these days, When the rays of sun are purely darkness, and we dance with the devil contained inside our head, these apples have vanished.
You reach out searching, you try to create your own, you force it. Nothing Works.
You can’t stay away from that doctor, you can’t stay away from that darkness.
You are engulfed, thinking maybe through the blindness you can still obtain the answer. The Cure. You’re Wrong. You’re Trapped. You Have Nothing To Stop It.
It’s just a simple fruit, but it is one that you can’t have.
I wonder if I'm able to love without making a catastrophe of it. Is my heart more than a catalyst for tragedy? I wonder, did you ever feel like you were drowning in my feelings? did you feel like you were breathing again as you walked away? did you feel like another muse for my sad poetry? I didn't mean to try and use you as the glue for all my broken parts. I'm a natural disaster and the truth is the ground beneath you shook everytime you came close. My pure intentions always seem to get twisted but I promise you I only ever wanted to love. I know I'm poison running through your veins. I know you wanted to spit me out the second you tasted me.
I'll kiss another boy who doesn't know my mind because if he did as well as you he'd walk away the same. Just know I tried to be simple. I tried until I felt nothing at all.
Ouch! A sharp ***** from my needle’s point. Mother strides into the room Licking the dark dye from freshly picked blackberries – Her voice muffled from the fullness of her fingers. Then, a sudden whir – of bees? – resonating, No doubt drawn from the sweet promises of berries. We start, in a panic, towards the open window. Moments after our plummet to the ground, We look upon the back door, agape, Awaiting our impromptu exit. Sigh! Oh, how I hate the promises of berries.