My Cup of Poetry

i sit in a Conner with my cup of poetry a cup of passions yet unsaintly sultry containing the juices of sorrows once so mellow with love outflowing onto the next fellow the nostalgia of love n hate all in a sip yet in my cup i have no bread to dip I shall drink till but the last drop cease for if i don’t die, it shall bring me peace In every sip, my veins shiver with rage as i try to put all my feelings on this page ‘cause soon my soul shall wean with age with eagerness to join the phantom stage dying slowly, till with this cup i cant engage My cup of poetry is what keeps me sane blocking out the worlds sins and all its pain it warms me up and blocks out the rain and if it drains, i shall fill it again for the world is just but me and my cup of poetry