upon a time I could
not taste life for 
all of the extraneous
shit I added to it
because I, for lack of
a better word for it,
truly believed that the
more you poured into
it, the more you'd get
out of it, not for a single
second comprehending
that I was actively diluting
the very thing that I was
supposed to be experiencing,


for simplicity's sake
is a lost art, a forgotten
trove of buried
treasure, golden coins
glittering in the sun, the
constant need to
decorate, to fill, to
liven up the joint
with extemporaneous
and ultimately 
meaningless white noise, a
cacophony of sights and
sounds and feelings,
and wondering why the
experience isn't


my soul cried, and
for once in my life
I listened, and took the
time to take a breath and
divest myself of the
unwanted, unneeded,
unnecessary, and began to
revel in the sublime, to
shun the additives which
were nothing more than a
cancer to my soul
which is why, when the
barista asks me how
I want my coffee, I reply


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