The grunge coffee,

A coffee forgotten about a few days ago,

Until an ashtray was needed,

4 butts circle it’s fermented foam exterior,

It’s placed on a PS2 copy of God of War,

It’s stacked 3 disks high,

With Underground 2 and San Andreas underneath,

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

It’s presented to me when I need to chuck my smoke,

I don’t pull a face I don’t mean to offend,

I stuff mine Into the grotesque graveyard,

I hand it back to my drug fucked friend,

It’s forgotten up in the corner once again,

Until Sunday chores and room is vaccumed and cleaned,

Sometimes I feel like a coffee,

Before twelve I need it,

That coffee is the scum of it’s kind,

What a poor soulless existence although no brain,

Kinda sad right? Maybe I’m tripping