in a coffee

what she’s done, i was not sure. Terrible-fake-automatic coffee machine, fed her with terrible cappucino. She was the ristretto, bitter than ristretto. Draw the night, draw it black.

I was lost, in the midle of the city where she lived. where nobody knew her. where nobody wanted her. she was like my black sky, my black moon and black stars. a place where i couldn’t find anything but black. cause she’s the black.

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 3rd, 2007 at 3:48 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.