That Metal Taste

It was rape

It was made up

It was intentional

It was a flat white                     not a latte

                     not a cappuccino 

                     not a single shot espresso

Not something I liked

                             in particular.

Got me good. Savage in the heart by way of the tip of the back of my tongue as I choked on the index finger and thumb thrust into my notions like the nozzle of a gas station pump filling dead dinosaurs into my mechanical one.

And the rims on his Mercedes Benz spun on and on and on like my endless craving for a goddamned cup of mediocre unfresh black coffee poured into a stained porcelain mug my grip married 4 days ago.

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About heathencomehome

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