Coffee

No one likes the grit at the bottom,
but we keep drinking.
Trying to find comfort
in the filth beneath the surface.
It draws us in like magnetized personages,
passages even, to a destination no one wants to be.
We fight.
Just enough to say we did.
As some scapegoat to ourselves,
from responsibility to our own scrutiny.
We tuck and roll in the landing.
Our fate only steps behind.
Yet we lie.
A forced and welcomed paralysis.
Just steps behind, we find the relevant sanity.