Scene 2

Reaching for the cup of coffee sitting silently still in front of me, I discreetly shift my posture so as to adjust the tension in my feet. Ah my feet that screams at me to get up and flee, flee in disbelief of what your slightly crooked lips speak. Regardless to say, I stay not only to listen but to console, to tell you it was me not you who was weak.

Resting hand in hand, becoming too close my heart begins to sting. Warning me now with the song it sings, the end of you and me shall begin. Too Late now my mind's voice regains its shrill no sanity left within. My coffee standing far from still, as my hate visibly starts to build, and on you I intently spilled, my rage and the coffee you know I no longer drink.