I’m only used for your daily routine–
once, maybe twice a day if I’m lucky.
When you wake up early morning,
I’m the first face you see.
Nothing but cream and froth,
you fill me up with coffee.
Its bitterness sickens me.
As our hands intertwine,
you bring me back to life
and I feel like I have purpose again.
Your lips leave behind a stain of red
before you place me back down
ever so gently.
And before I know it,
you leave me yet again;
back in to the cupboard with jealous old friends.
I can’t wait to see your face again tomorrow,
but until then, I’ll be here–
empty and drowning in sorrow.