Black Sea Coffee
By: Cormoran Lee
Tags: Oceans, Addiction, Freedom, Mental Health, Free Verse

True story

My imagination

It was just my imagination

Nothing else matters

In this black sea coffee

I feel the colors of my soul

I don’t need to see anything

I don’t need to go anywhere

With the current

Against the current

Open sea, wild waves

Floating and drifting with the wind

My blood is pumped with 3 gigantic mugs of coffee

My brain is poisoned with who knows how long of digital brainwashed marketing, sales and social media.

I try to turn it into a game of connections but my eyes remained burnt

I am a slave

Just like everyone else

Nothing really matters now

Salt and caffeine, I am an addict

I swim faster to wash faster

Fastening my self to back-breaking-chairs

And then, then, only then come the then…

Washing machine, save me

My dogs look at me after their 10 hours nap

They ask what is the schedule because it seems that I betray nature

My rhythm has no balance, no control

It is based on work-load, my ambition to conquer a goal

Will it be possible to find a peace of mind in the colorful world once again?

Or the more digital colors I will view, the more black-blindness of deep and remote oceans to ease up my obsessions?

I am nothing but a log, a lonely log drifting

Yesterday, my heart was aching so badly

I was the strongest man in the ocean

But the weakest too

Only then I knew of such deep pains I need to pump away

Why does this boulder boy swim so far into the dangerous horizon?

Till where the wind is the ruler and no one can see, hear, and observe the mixing tears of salty sprays.

We cry together far away from sight.

My coffee mugs grow each day

So as my thirst for freshness

It’s an endless cycle

When will this slavery end?

Or is it just about to begin?

Life is shorter than it seems

I will commemorate dark immersions on my way down to earth as sinking ashes but will my social presence leave a trace of muddy grains of spilled coffee?

Nothing else matters

Not even this evening

I am just about to do the same

Just as yesterday and the day before

My agenda is filled with filthy keywords only I can comprehend

Ah oops my diary but only I know where to drop the sh!t

The vivid art

This hasty blogging that turned into poetry that turned into free verse that turned into wild verse that turned into scribbling that turned into blabbering that turned into spitting vowels and letters and splashes and broken mirrors of self-observations but all I want to do is go back to this black sea, just without the coffee, I don’t need your company. I don’t need any company but perhaps a company of sanity, not the rubbish type but maybe some boulder gentle wet spot to put my jumpy bum and sit still. Breathing winds, breathing days, breathless lives, I hold my breath as I begin to thrive in this chaotic dot on who knows life-span wrong the rights to find a balance in the vacuum of the stormy night.

I shall jump again into this liquid.

And slow-dance a rusty anchor.

I will kiss it until it’s liberated from rock-bottom to celestial perfusing gases where Icarus awaits me with distilled water shots in quantities of monsoon floods that would drop into waterfalls of dormant volcanos and form new islands of idleness.

Where the real work may begin

Sinking in

Shaping, letting

Passive progressive

Accidentally successive