The Chipped Mug

A mug sits dusty, with stories untold,

its chipped rim a reminder, a gift from the old.

Each sip comes heavy, with memories concealed,

a façade of affection, my gratitude unreal.

I cradle it close, like a fading embrace,

forced smiles trapped in the porcelain's face.

It holds bitter coffee, a brew of regret,

while I sip in silence, a friendship unmet.

The handle feels warm but the heart it betrayed,

mocking my laughter, the joy that just frayed.