two-faced

gingerly, I pluck the
teacup from its crisp surroundings
and gaze into its depths.

thoughts emerge from the silence.

one voice tells me
to take stock in simple things.
    
another sneers and says
you need not breathe to live.

who to listen to in
this conflicted world?
we never know what to think…

the teacup slipped from
my fingers.
I watched it shatter and stain
the carpet red.

sipping tea never mattered in the
scheme of things,

but I like to think that I live
for a reason.