In the morning, he sips.
Starts his day with something that says,
Hot. Hot. Addicted he is.
It is a part of him. It transforms him.
He no longer can see anything better.
Other things no longer matter, When he sips.
It Helps him to think and see clearly.
Because he knows he just barely,
Survived the day.
With not much to say.
It is no longer one. but two.
As he lays his head to rest.
He wears his dreams like a vest.
They don’t die. They are alive.
They rest with him at night. And come alive again when he sees the light.
Written by Grace balogun