short term optimismI stand on the peak of heights, on a high of glory,and reality attempts to wake me, to forsake me, but it will not break me,for my epiphany preserves my ecstacy,and I can bleed a gallon and die happy.So, to death and good humour! when a shell is left,the liquids in my stomach churns and my joy, away it burns,when this world reaches my mind, without the sense to be kind,but that bridge remains uncrossed, and I haven't losthope and I would cope while I revel in~ecstacy and joy~my high of glory~my immunity of reality~this illusion and short-lived insanity.
Coffee lipsCoffee lips, you have them.I wake up drowsily, drearily getting out of bed.I wait for work to wash away my free time,as I dress, dangling my droopy tie off my collar.My solace in this same routine? You.Your scruffy mat of hair shadows your snoring face,but I still see the flicker in your eyes,I can see you dreaming. May I venture a guess?Perhaps of a weekend morning before, when we would adoreeachother and no other, no cares or fretting,just the moments of romance and a danceof our tongues after the morning "two sugars".My coffee breath reeks to you a sweet scent somehow,as your breath smells simply pure,your tongue tasting sugary, even without a sip,as I almost feel little ecstacy tabletsslipping down my throat.I drudge downstairs, pour out the piping mug,swigging it back, serving my addiction.I feel awake, alert, alive and ready.But still no happier.Then you silently slip out the shadows.A smile in your face fails to preserve my dread for the day.You gently cra