Every midnight we sit at the coffee table and we share a cup of tea

He stays up with me and we discuss things

Most of the time he just listens

Other times offers suggestions or he just ignores my questions

It gets more depressing as time passes, because every night

I ask this one question and all he does is wipe his glasses

It's aggrevating as hell and I'm just waiting to tell

whether or not he can even remember the answer..

Or whether or not he's choosing not to tamper with his memory..

Or whether or not he can even fucking remember me.

What a waste of time

But every night it's that same damn routine:

One green cup of tea and me stuck all by myself once its empty

Then I'm off to bed with plenty of caffiene to keep me up and thinking

The cup I'm drinking from is never clean

I can't remember if it's a dream once I awake and I walk..

From my messy bed and anticipate the next late night talk



Every midnight we sit at the coffee table and we share a cup of tea

He stays up with me and we discuss things

Most of the time he just listens

Other times offers suggestions with his awful expressions

Altered refelctions...his whole aura is see-through

With more confessions...I don't want to leave you

"This cup should be bottomless!"...as my insecurities spill

I see his face fading away. I surely need a refill

I purposely keep still and don't move much

Except to wet my lips with sips. With every kiss of death I lose touch

I sip the tea carefully because its at the degree of seperation

Tasting the forked tongue in bi-lingual conversation

Waiting for his answer still...and at any given chance I will

Sweet and Low my bitter past...let the cancer kill the small talk

"Alright, man...this bitter taste