My fingertips, laced around the handle of this teacup.
Sat comparing the cracks close-up.
The tea-stains that lay around it’s edge, from days overused.
Trying incessantly to scrub away the evidence of abuse.
A tshirt hangs from my lanky frame.
I avoid the mirror, what I’ve became.
Scars litter my skin, from fights and animal bites.
And mainly so, from lonely nights.
I pull on a hoodie and zip it up.
Pick back up that stained teacup.
Place it down and make some tea.
Daydream of a time when I can be free, from me.