Coffee shops and cigarettes. Coffee shops and cigarettes.
These days the sentiment of a writer,
Is described by coffee shops and cigarettes.
Now I get the mood, but god damn it’s abused,
Like an atheistic six year old being whipped
By a sadomasochistic, pruned teacher nun.
Who is extremely catholic.
These sell out writers and poets,
Hanging out at cafes as if they owned them,
Really get me angry.
I mean, it’s alright to enjoy your coffee.
But it sounds like you are all freaking addicted.
Romanticizing the same god forsaken thing.
I mean, it’s just a brew made up of beans
That can only grow in tropical areas
That does changes to your neurotransmitters
So you can focus on how shitty your life is.
Or eventful… but then you’d write about other things
And wouldn’t be focusing on that drugged up bean tea.
And let’s not forget the fascination
With deadly smoke made from sacrificed leaves
That was infused with dire chemical
That shoots straight to your lungs.
Sadly this one doesn’t make you fun
Nor hungry, nor happy.
It just relaxes you,
Paralyzes you like snake venom paralyzes
And most importantly, kills,
So let’s end this criticism on a really bleak note!
Let’s mix all your shitty poetry,
Make a huge paper machey blunt,
Extract all the Nicotine and Caffeine from the drugs,
Make a powder from it,
And most importantly,
Smoke it all in one go,
Get hyped so much your heart explodes,
Or you collide headfirst with a steel wall.
Whatever happens, your writing dies.
So do you but… who will care in a hundred years?
Contributor: Jose Porrata
Copyright © 2014 Jose Porrata. All Rights Reserved.