Cold Teacup

Glass keeps shattering on my heart, and the house is colder than I remember.

I make some tea to warm, but it’s too hot to taste. So hot that I won’t taste for some time after today.

Turn on the lights but they won’t – can’t do much. A flame cannot warm me half as much as a bulb. It flickers anyhow.

The sun outside is deceiving, so I stay here; grounded.

Blankets are piled in a corner and that’s where they’ll stay.

The cup is my only hope, but it too will break away.



Filed under Poetry

4 responses to “Cold Teacup

  1. Feels desolate. I hope it changes

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