every midnight we sit at the coffee table and we share a cup of tea he stays up with me and we discuss things most of the time he just listens other times offers suggestions or he just ignores my questions it gets more depressing as time passes every night i ask this one question and all he does is wipe his glasses it s aggravating as hell i m just waiting to tell whether or not he can even remember the answer whether or not he s choosing not to tamper with his memory whether or not he can even fucking remember me what a waste of time but every night it s that same damn routine one green cup of tea and me stuck all by myself once its empty and then i m off to bed with plenty of caffeine to keep me up and thinking the cup i m drinking from is never clean i can t remember if it s a dream once i awake and i walk from my messy bed and anticipate our next late night talk every midnight we sit at the coffee table and we share a cup of tea he stays up with me and we discuss things most of the time he just listens other times offers suggestions with his awful expressions altered reflections his whole aura is see through with more confessions i don t want to leave you this cup should be bottomless as my insecurities spill i see his face fading away i surely need a refill i purposely keep still and don t move much except to wet my lips with sips with every kiss of death i lose touch i sip the tea carefully because its at the degree of separation tasting the forked tongue in bilingual conversation waiting for his answer still and at any given chance i will sweet and low my bitter past let the cancer kill the small talk alright man this bitter taste in my mouth needs to get washed out ghosts in this house don t have anything timely to talk about the concept is dead there s nothing death should interrupt i went to bed last night with one sip left in the cup