Coffee & Make Believe

"I desire the things that will destroy me in the end." — Sylvia Plath

Category: Scribbles & Scrawls

7:57pm | Writer’s Block

I think about you

every second of the day.

“Please empty my thoughts,”

I cry and I pray.

I write with my heart,

but you took it away.

I try to put it in a poem,

but find nothing to say.

The words fill my mind –

oh, how I wish you would stay.

I’ll leave you alone now,

I’ll find my own way.




I used to work long hours because there was nothing calling me home; no pets to feed, no significant other, no family. I worked hard, literally, to forget how indefinitely lonely I was.

4:12 am

It’s a curse to be such an innately happy personality trapped inside a realistic, protective, masochistic, untrusting, and skeptical mind.

You’re unhappy, and people don’t believe you. Because you smile. Even when you cry.

7:23 pm

I knew I was masochistic,

long before I knew you.

As if I try not to let myself forget it,

I arduously cling to our beautiful past,

our painfully impossible future,

your separated presence.


I am a dirt path you didn’t mean to turn onto,
a one-way street too narrow for other vehicles to pass beside.
No way to turn around, you could only keep going.
And while driving through, you were captivated by sceneries you would’ve otherwise missed,
Bold hues and untouched beauty.
Things you’ve never imagined, that you never knew existed.
And you never felt so alive.
Until you hear the busy roads,
the freeway calling you back to the destination you were originally seeking.
You drive on,
Back on schedule,
As if the time spent with me
Was no longer than a detour.
And almost as instantly as you found me,
You leave me.
Just a vision in the rearview mirror,
Until suddenly I am no more than a memory.
And you continue on,
And you get to where you needed to go.

10:39 pm

Everyone around us can see it.
We think we’re slick and sly,
but I think our friends are just
humoring us.
This is a joke.
How could they not see the tension,
the chemistry,
the raw magnetism?
A third party observer once asked
what it was that we were,
seeing, obviously, it wasn’t mere friends.
What are we?
My guess is we are the punchline
to life’s cruel joke.
We are two beings,
one soul,
no beginning nor end.
We are infinity,
we are destiny,
we are nothing.

12:08 am

Please, I beg you,

just forget me.

For I have not the strength

and will

to do it on my own.

You are my heart.

Rip it from my chest,

take it far away.

The pain is too great,

and I cannot bear the ghost of you

any longer.


I’m not ready to go
The night isn’t over
I want to go home
I want you to stay
Please don’t leave
I will never beg
I will barely ask
You have to go
Just another minute
Don’t ask me to say it again
This time I mean it

Lost Dreams


Seeing you always occurs in the late hours,
when all is still and we should be sleeping,
like the rest of the city.
Is it out of a natural exhaustion of the mind
that makes it so easy for us to lose our inhibitions,
to do what we do?
Never tired, always wired when we’re together,
always ready to take it too far—
to take on the night.
Perhaps that’s why each memory of you is fading,
blurry and coming back like deja vu,
like a dream that we should’ve had while sleeping.
If it’s any consolation, every hour lost with you was utterly, completely worth it,
and I’d rather have these sheer, fleeting memories over all the lost dreams.

Double Espresso



I have a tube of lipstick,
it’s called “Double Espresso.”
It’s a glimmery, reddish brown.
A Fall color.
But that never mattered to me,
breaker of trend-rules.
I had bought it in the Fall, and wore it often,
until I found a new favorite.
Which kind of resembles every decision I make.
I found it again recently,
and was taken back when I opened the tube.
Its scent, which does not resemble coffee at all,
a sort of sweet smell you wouldn’t expect of lipstick,
brought me back to the Fall.
It brought me back to you.
The first night I wore it was the night that many could claim as
our best night.
The first night I saw you after you returned from your trip,
the night I wore that dress,
the night you took my hands and wanted to dance
in the silent, empty room.
It brought me back to all those nights,
during our highest of peaks,
before we dropped, and lost each other in the deepest valley.
It’s amazing how a smell,
a forgotten tube of lipstick,
could make me that lovestruck girl again
for an instant,
and remind me how the Fall was yours,
and apparently always will be.