Decaf tobacco

And so you've been sitting in deep and profound silence. Just a cup if coffee, steaming nostrils still allergic to yesterday's smog.
Your mind's restless... as it's normal, given the scent of power that struck your fingers appart.
So much power, it seems incomprehensible... almost Godly.
For, I believe, the greatest victory is indeed in stirring the hearts of brave men. Your sting's behind my throat, should I move, I'd die in your arms.. or at your feet, depending on how much the coffee has cooled down in time.
Your windows filter all but blue light. It almost feels like home, here, in your claws.
I'm analysing you. There's fear in your deep and melancholic sight, staring through the nickel bedsheets.. it would seem as if my presence causes waves of minuscule muscular wrinkles across your lips, as if you were undecided wether to accept me or not.
You hold so much power that you're afraid to use it... or perhaps it's just your careless game... but if it were just a game, all your beauty and power would simply vanish, leaving you emptied in that blue, coffee inpregnated chamber where you sealed me off for a sweet hour.

I can only hope that those fingers of yours have lost their needles. I can only hope that I won't have to fill and hole you leave behind.. even if it's the only chance I have of killing off my own.. fear.

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