Café Muckmoon

The succubus serves me a coffee, which I wanted black.
She's rotten inside, it oozes from her eyes.
Rotten like a plant with too much watering.
Rotten like people who don't want enough and receive too much.
Actually, I'd need my dreams back.
But please dear demon, bring me another cup... hot, full and black.


I wish that my thoughts would act as noble way as the smoke of my cigarette.
Lightly rise up and shatter around... vanish briefly and let another one continue.
But I feel my mind is like this swirling mass of almost opaque and black liquid.