A Morning In Quarantine

That day has come,

not a single ground left to brew.

My head in a fog, and my breakfast: lonely.

The eggs won’t cook themselves

Yet here is hope in the world today;

without my black gold.

No energy to work or study

Withdrawal sets in; I feel I may have the flu.

I guess I’ll just have my burnt scrambled eggs and pills.

And after this breakfast, maybe I can break free,

from this bitter prison.

I will rest here until my entire body’s clean, 

lay on the cold wooden floor,

and dream of coconut water by the sea