Good Morning, Goodbye

I woke up to the sound of her voice
whispering a good morning,
and a goodbye.
Coffee in hand and cigarette in mouth,
I leaned upon one elbow
wishing she would stay.

Laying back down I noticed,
the ceiling is cracked
and the clothes aren’t put away.
I stay in bed, in boxers and a baseball hat.
Time seems to stop once she’s gone.

She says its only for a little while.
It’s only as bad as you make it.
Living a day from sun up to sun down
without her though, is hell.

My coffee is gone, my cigarette smolders in the ashtray
like the last embers of a campfire.
I throw a t-shirt on and head down the stairs,
Finding there is no more coffee made.

The time between the drops of French roast,
slowly plopping into the pot,
seems like an eternity.
The floor is cold on my bare feet,
but I stand feverishly,
waiting for the pot to fill up.

I light another cigarette.
The beginning of my daily caffeine,
and nicotine binge.
I hear the steam blowing
from the bottom of the machine.
Pulling every last drop
into the pile of muddy coffee grounds.

I stare into my cup,
now full to the brim,
with energy that I lack.