I love coffee. He is like a lover and a source of pleasure. It starts my day with a kick. An answer when I’m in a bad mood. The best companion when its raining. A true comfort for me. A taste of heaven and a aroma like a thousand Iris. But I know there is more than this why I love coffee. I am killing myself slowly and painlessly. Love was just my excuse for an unconscious goal.
Like a lover who worships you and make you feel wanted. Behind all this pleasure lies another motive. To slip a poison on your drink and kill you with a beat. Indeed I already have that truth slap on my face. But what is more pleasurable than to be killed by your lover.