—where beans burn and so do you
The air was thick with sacred smoke,
As old regrets began to choke.
The beans were tossed into the flame,
Each crack, a name. Each pop, a shame.
You watched them blacken, watched them split,
A pyre built from all your shit.
It smelled like pride. It smelled like pain.
Like childhood dreams ground down to strain.
The roaster turned, the timer ticked,
A process cold, precise, and slick.
They called it craft. You knew it more,
A way to burn what came before.
You brewed the batch. You drank it hot.
It tasted like the parts you’re not.
📜 The Roast Ceremony – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 20g Fresh-Roasted Dark Beans (ideally single-origin, emotionally scorched)
- Brew Method: French Press or Pour Over (whichever feels more ceremonial)
- 10 oz Water (heated, not boiling, unlike your repressed rage)
- Garnish: A whiff of smoke and a quiet moment you pretend isn’t grief
Instructions:
Grind beans immediately after roasting. Inhale the scent like you understand it. Brew slowly. Watch the steam rise. Reflect. Drink without sugar. Without milk. Without denial. This cup isn’t for comfort. It’s for penance.