coughee

Inside of a weak cup of coffee
I see promises
of this day getting better
new fulfilments of hopes thought
wishes granted
ennui forgotten, or almost nearly
it isn't the high or even the rush
that has me in a spilling hush
as my heart races faster
the sun begins to descend
pushing into foray
a lone optimistic thought
which I seem to have already forgotten
and left wondering why
this felt like a good idea at the time
like a dying tungsten
that suddenly glows brighter
before offing itself into a crinkle
of a thought bulb
much like the contents
of this cup