Expressed Woes

By Phoebe Bee

I feel the warmth brush against my lips then straight down my throat, my eyes closed to prevent them from darting around.

Now every little sound crowds around my ears loudly, pounding on my skull, pulling me left and right at the same time.

I take another sip thinking this time for sure it’ll work. My tensed senses might lower their defenses, I’d be granted the ability to silence my insecurities, end the burden of responsibility with a single cup.

Yet the stress manifests in this espresso shot.

I’m not even addicted to caffeine. Why do I want to be?

To find solidarity that isn’t even there?

To stare at a blank page hoping to be given what I need?

I can barely even see the world that rushes around me. The ground rejects my feet since they can’t move at its speed. The clouds fill up my head, so I float aimlessly, looking for a thought to think that could potentially make me happy.

Personally, I usually prefer tea but the time taken to make tea I can no longer afford even if it’s more calming. So I’ll sip on my quickening cup of bitter harsh coffee.

To be honest, are they not the same?