The grunge coffee,

  A coffee forgotten about a few days ago,

  Until an ashtray was needed,

  4 butts circle it’s fermented foam exterior,

  It’s placed on a PS2 copy of God of War,

  It’s stacked 3 disks high,

  With Underground 2 and San Andreas underneath,

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  It’s presented to me when I need to chuck my smoke,

  I don’t pull a face I don’t mean to offend,

  I stuff mine Into the grotesque graveyard,

  I hand it back to my drug fucked friend,

  It’s forgotten up in the corner once again,

  Until Sunday chores and room is vaccumed and cleaned,

  Sometimes I feel like a coffee,

  Before twelve I need it,

  That coffee is the scum of it’s kind,

  What a poor soulless existence although no brain,

  Kinda sad right? Maybe I’m tripping