A poem is written about coffee
After a poet's insomniac night
Full of stained ceramic mugs
And crumpled ***** of paper
Filled with poems
They wish they didn't write

these nights are the nights
that I wish I had:

a cup of coffee
a view of the stars
a comfy blanket
a knitted sweater
a sleeping kitten

things that you savor
things that give live flavor
things that you live for
things that you love for

things that will whisper
in your ear to say

"today was bad,
but tomorrow will be better"

sure, I don't have
a cup of coffee

and I can't see
the stars from my window

my blanket is rough

and I don't own a sweater.

...

I'm allergic to kittens.

but I know you're out there
and one day
you'll whisper in my ear

"today was bad,
but tomorrow will be better"

The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published

the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,

procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.

the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards

cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests

The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me

when you have a heavy feeling inside your body
but you can't tell anyone
because they wouldn't understand
how heavy it is
and how you just don't know
and they would worry
but it's not like you're dying
it's like you're living too much

cloud of dark
skies, where
the hollows
of the night
unwind
their
flowing
streams,

boy, you
make me feel
alive,
i am your
dream,

unravel
the stars at
my feet,

push me
against a wall,

burn into me
like mist.