cinnamon, words

i have started putting cinnamon in my coffee as i brew it

i like the smell

it feels exotic as it brews

it is mostly just coffee flavored

so

you know

good

but with a cinnamon tinge

i have had an avalanche of lines in my head today but my fingers can’t make them make sense

and reading random things

a lazy sunday morning of waste

like the sixteenth century was a wonderfully chaotic time of pirates and religious hang ups

and let’s not forget discovering already occupied lands and claiming them

the logistics escapes me

as a kid i loved history

you know

the one they scrub and doctor ever so slightly

then you get older and are at a punk show and someone hands you a people’s history of the united states and a flip gets switched as you smoke a joint and read about the things that were really important

you feel the rising need to illuminate everyone

like an out of the closet atheist

militant in the need to right these wrongs

i dreamt of being an explorer

discovering a new land and learning the language, mythology, really see and learn everything

then you realize that they did none of it, they were just kind of horrible

and you hear the faint pop in the distance of a dream dying

next thing you know you fix junk for a living, overly trained for what is no longer the job you learned

it is a mockery

the tendrils of corporate speak and mannerisms has made it less a challenging joy

more a participation award

churning someone they see as just a number to get their numbers so the faceless shadow creatures see the numbers they promised to the huddled masses yearning to be rich

and exotic is just fucking cinnamon in the coffee

it is the hollow truth of childhood fantasy

being adult

finally unbound from the chains of youth

to a dire stretch of lawless and rigidly drawn diagrams

how it should go

how it does

your context is confused and everything feels heavy in your inner ear and is this what passing out feels like

how is every joy i was promised in adulthood just another lie

but you tell yourself to remember what the doctor said

keep this shit up and you’re gonna blow

so you sip the lie flavored coffee and imagine how it was supposed to be

you were buff with a sword in a future where society fell apart with the return of magic

the last hope

a candle flickering in the dark

man you are awkward

and the cinnamon was a mistake

just drink your black swill and stop whining for five minutes

it is what it most certainly fucking is

stop wasting it

finish the pot and never diverge again

wanna get high and watch mr robot again

it does smell nice though

3 thoughts on “cinnamon, words

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