Drip Feed

—a slow transfusion of dread

Drop by drop, the rhythm ticks,
Each one a bruise, a little fix.
You wait, you pour, you calculate,
A ritual disguised as fate.
The kettle hums like distant war,
You stand in socks on cold tile floor.

It’s not a drink, it’s for art,
A caffeine line straight to the heart.
You tell yourself it’s measured grace,
But really, it’s a holding place.
A hot delay, a padded cell,
Brewed comfort in a private hell.

You sip. You sigh. You start to drown,
But slow enough to write it down.


📜 Drip Feed – The Recipe

Ingredients:

Instructions:
Grind. Bloom. Pour. Spiral. Wait.
Do everything correctly to avoid thinking about anything else.
Serve in a glass carafe or ceramic mug, ideally while staring blankly at your unread mail pile.