I gaze at the smoke that struggles out of the kettle, I listen to the sound of its screams and I feel the pain inside my chest stir; because of how I find pleasure in that torturous sound. I pour the boiling water in my maroon mug, add coffee beans and sweeten it with sugar; but can you heal pain with tiny white temporary particles that will soon dissolve. For the finale I pour the creamy milk, to shut away the screams and hideaway the dark images. I inhale the scent and as I do, I close my eyes.
I am a cup of coffee, I hideaway my pain and shut it out with temporary ingredients. After a few more sips, I’ll be empty and all gone, with no memory that I was ever there.