My biscuits take on butter and my coffee takes on cream.

I’m bored with modern culture, and here I hold the scream.

I am curious and embarrassed to wonder what is next.

Like all anticipation when I’m waiting for her text.

She loves me but I’m doubtful, I know she has a fear.

I’m thinking about dying and there’s nothing quite that clear.

In a world of hope and wonder, there is something almost sad.

Like narcissists self importance when only mirrors are the fad.