Medium Dark Roast
I'm sitting in the coffee shop.
It's dark outside, but
noisy neon bright in here.
5 a.m.
I don't care.
I don't hear.
Just thinking of the times
that I faltered,
failed.
Faltered.
Always my fault.
Not part of the pack.
Just in my dreams in this blinky café, with
a hot cup-o-joe on a cold early morn.
I don't care.
I aint here.
Been on my mind.
poem by Rick Stokes
Added by Poetry Lover
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