Step in, deep breath, rehearse what should have been a riff

Second time of the week, tenth week in a row

and I still can’t catch my steady drift .

The sleeves I keep on pulling are stretched, warped, flowy

covering my stubby index.

“Vanilla latte, less syrup. Oat milk. Grande. Cold.”

These words come out as a lullaby,

yet escalate into a storm of Shakespeare sonnet.

An overwhelming journey to a tragic ending.

I got it right on the first try.

Credit card outreach, steady nod.

The nightmare should end here.

1 sip. 2 sips. The milk glides, lingers, stays, haunts.

The avalanche it entail erupts in my stomach.

All the butterflies want to escape.

More of moths. Equally destructive. Devastating.

“We will exchange your drink if you are not satisfied.”

I hate this sign.

Why assume you’re wrong, and let me be the bad guy?

Not all of us got the courage to defeat the silence and regiment flow of this hunger strike for a right coffee.

Empty cups pile up, tick tock.

My lonesome space fades away, tick tock.

It’s now or never, tick tock.

This is not the scene I rehearsed for tick tock.

But my feet are glued to the cracks of the floor.

Time cement me with my wrong order in the hand.

Just go up and say it, tick tock.

My voice went sore as the first syllable came out, as if the 3 day concert didn’t treat me well.

2. 4. 8. Beams of sights laser shut my mind.

Nevermind.

I will accept what shall come.

I will walk through the storm and embrace the cloud.

It’s okay to escape when the water in tunnel gets dark,

despite the blinding torch guiding the life saving path.

It’s okay. It’s just another eventful day.

It’s my fault, sorry for not being clear anyway.