Half full

As my veing course through that black blood that I intake in my mouth,

ooh the fillings from a hot water and into the cup it transforms into a bitter fruit that fills not just my loins in a jittery flow.

Sometimes it can create

some times it permeate

the soul into caffeinated nights and days,

from morning to twilight.

It consumes not of empty days,

makes my day half and half,

and lactates me into the loving arms of the toilet.

Thus emptiness of this anxious brain wants more and more of a half full life of that fluid,

yes such beans,

such bean and into my cup what I can call my,

life.