Coffee Stains

they were as dark as coffee stains

how much does it hurt to get burnt by a cigarette?

he asked while the mug slowly cooled

 

the sleeves were rolled up

and the faded lamplight felt warm

against the precise spot of bare skin

that was his to explore.

 

those eyes collected the hints of sleepless nights

and the enraged breaths freezed my bones

but it never mattered because

they were as dark as coffee stains.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

Such a painful recollection, just the thought of the darkness, of the skin stained, the soul stained. Your words ache with the colors. How I hope your new year brings only gold. Maravilhoso, amiga.

[Richard]

fantastic I loved it I loved it :)

[sammyj]

good start where this could go as a story. Rich characters and even better plot. Take us on a train ride through your mind with the wind of imagination blowing us to and fro.

[Jéssica Fernandes]

oh, thank you very much

[Chris]

Pain is relative to what you WANT to ignore and what you CAN ignore. The intent of our focus is ...our own perception.

[Jéssica Fernandes]

yeah, i suppose.. the constant fight between what we want, and what we can.

[Chris]

putting a cigarette out on a callous is one thing...put your wrists together and have him drop a lit one where they join ...is another. Scars form behind your eyes too miss.

[jerrypat]

Cold chills ran through me as I was reading this poem, for I probably got something out of it that you didn't mean. Then again, maybe you did. I flashback to the not so good ole days when I thought jamming a sharp metal object into my veins was the cool thing to do. When you wrote this . . .

"against the precise spot of bare skin
that was his to explore."

. . . I was seeing myself trying desperately to find a vein that hadn't already collapsed. Like I said, I don't now if this is the imagine you wanted to project, but it is my image nonetheless.

[Jéssica Fernandes]

and this piece of old memories that you told me about, sent cold chills through me as well..
and i meant something like that, indeed. there's a lot of ways to (try to) replace the inner pain - sharp metal objects and paper cylinders burning at 900 celsius are just two of them..

but it never mattered, because
it would made us numb and
everything would be forgotten
even if for just a tiny moment
so in the end
it never mattered because
they were either salient pale rivers
flowing along abused skin
or small seeds blooming into shades
as dark as coffee stains.