I used to like my coffee,
I cared if it was sweet,
I used to savor the flavor of it,
Feel the warmth down to my feet.
I used to love my coffee,
When I made it for a living,
It was hellish to relish the smell of it,
It felt good to always be giving.
I used to know my coffee,
If the shots were burnt or old,
It was a steal of a deal,
My morning appeal,
But now mine seems to be cold.
I don’t care much for my coffee,
It’s much more of a need then a want,
If it’s bland I don’t care,
I won’t know, I’m not there,
Never thought morning coffee could haunt.
It’s funny how things full of joy,
Now seem to be things just of habit,
My life, sad and dull,
My heart’s never quite full,
I’m chasing a very slow rabbit.
– Brittany Rickard