Caffeine Is Magic

Morning is a tired, blurry place.

Can't sit up,

don't want to get up,

I love my bed,

don't want to leave it.

The smell of coffee helps me

to slide out of my warm haven,

I move towards it.

It coaxes me,

to the daytime land downstairs.

It occurred to me this morning that caffeine is magic.

But magic can be good or evil.

Espresso tastes raw

on my lips,

silky in my mouth

sliding down my throat.

Heaven in a tiny cup.

Caffeine's inside me now,

I can feel its presence.

Possessing me.

I'm in control,

but is this feeling real?

A slave to caffeine,

I can do anything,

I am confident and powerful.

But it comes at a price.

Must have more caffeine.

Black tea,

more tea,

must quench that thirst.

So much energy now,

I am strong.

Night is long, dark and exciting.

Enticing, full of possibilities.

I don't want to sleep,

inspiration is burning me.

Must create, must write, must do everything.

Early morning I'm still up.

Ideas are getting lazy,

feeling shaky, sick and panicky.

Cheated,

but I can't sleep, sleep is faraway.

Morning is a foreign land,

strange and scary, hostile.

Full of paranoia.

I feel like sleeping, so tired now,

oh the irony.

Coffee is calling,

it will save me!

I listen to its promises,

its heaven-scent, aroma.

The devil in my cup.