Thirsty?

There's a civilization living in my coffee cup. That's how long it's been. That's how many days have fallen over my door since I've drunk coffee. That's how many days since I've drunk anything. My lips are parched and I sometimes can't see anything except the itty-bitty stars. The stars are a little bit scary, but I don't want to ruin the civilization in my coffee cup. There are hearts waiting to be broken, but not by me. Countries will fight and kings will be killed, but not by me. There are children laughing and songs being sung and just look how they all grow! They enjoy life, are made to love life, and are made to hate life, but not by me. I sometimes wonder if they drink coffee too. Even when I can't see them, when the miniture clouds cover their heads, I know those delicate skulls would be scalded by hot coffee. Even when the daylight hides from my window and the moon avoids the cup, even then, I know that my satisfaction is their death. I've killed moths and spiders, goldfish and ideas, but this isn't quite the same. Who am I to have their heads in my coffee cup? Is this how God feels every day, every minute? If God is tempted to take a drink, then there isn't much longer until this coffee cup civilization is no longer mine to hold. Trees and bees and little smiles, I've seen it all their way. But the tap is dripping, wanting a cup, and how can I say no?