In the heart of night, under neon light's glare,
A soul stirs awake with a jittery stare.
A cup in hand, brimming with dark liquid fire,
Brewed not from warmth, but a desperate desire.
This potion, so bitter, yet sweet to the taste,
Promises vigor, with no moment to waste.
Yet beneath the surface, a storm starts to brew,
A tempest of thoughts, not a single one true.
With each sip taken, the world starts to spin,
Not faster, but slower, a paradox within.
The heart beats a rhythm, too quick to keep pace,
A race with no finish, an endless chase.
The clock ticks on, mocking with each passing hour,
As the mind builds its towers, then watches them tower.
Ideas once brilliant, now shadows of doubt,
In a caffeinated anxiety, trapped, looking out.
Yet amidst the chaos, a whisper so slight,
Speaks of calm waters, beyond the tumultuous night.
A reminder that storms, no matter how fierce,
Will eventually calm, and the sun will pierce.
So drink if you must, but remember the cost,
For not all who wander in darkness are lost.
And though caffeine promises to quicken the stride,
True peace lies within, not on a ride.
Let this be a lesson, to all who partake,
In the dance of anxiety, with so much at stake.
That balance is key, in both mind and cup,
To sip life fully, yet know when to stop.
