Darkness in A Cup

Drinking black tea
Reverberates me.
Systematic contractive
Glee.
A wash of dark spices
Dried leaves, and mystery.
English Breakfast sits
On my tongue.
The vacant future
Of souls, undone.
The feeling grows
To the persist.
A bitter smell,
A bitter taste.
Black like solid earth
At night
Tea seeps slower
With one true plight.
Almost square,
Soaking air.
Then drop! I Plop!
It into steamy water depths.
From where doth
This tea reflects?
In my carnal stomach,
Juices pulsing
Two-and-fro,
Belching tart
And saying, “No!”
A visceral mouth
To insure, endure, upflame
Withheld my blur.
The leaves are chopped
So thin
Within
I cannot scream or shout
But pull my fingers out
of the cup.
White rim, so smooth
There is no groove
To place these hands
And sing, my glands
Of upper cheek
My throat to reek
A deep, dark stench,
Both teeth that clench
The bitterness,
sour commotion
that depicts
my crucial devotion.
Caffeine intake;
Unscrupulous wake
My mind to take
The brightness of day.
Sticky words just sway
Until the leftover
Feeling of grace
Hits the trees
And rooftop ease
From this window
Pained and square.
The leaves don’t tear,
They only stare
Into my flagrant soul.
Fragrant, I steal each moment
Alone with my cup
And the darkness alone
Enters my mouth and
Eats me up.
A stream of unreal
Tar and asphalt
Slippery, the black liquid
Quivers down my throat.
Near the end,

I gulp!
Then swallow
Until nothing’s left
But stains,
Unswept and tiny crumbs
Of tea leaves and spices.
I look then stand up
To greet the early
Afternoon.
Now, here I am.
Tea was strong
It helped me see
The strength in me
That I knew was there all along…