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Fawning over the fissile festivities,
with which I fake my facile form.
Fatal futility floods my far-flung faith in myself.

Feeding the fires of my forgery,
Frantic forethought,
Fictionalizing the facts before my faithless eyes.

Forclosing upon the fractional freedoms that I've so long fought for.
Fearing the unforgiving firestorm that follows,
Once I've finally exhausted faith in my future.

Fielding my final fight,
Standing fast in the face of futility.
Fit to fly into the fray.
Dominique May 26
You complained when the drinks ran out;
Alcohol's synonymous with fun, you said.
I rolled my eyes, presented the concept
Of conversation- you wouldn't give in
And, in exasperation,
I split the bottle on the bone in my leg, shard to shin,
Muttered snidly as I bled,
"Hope you like red".

(Better to be, than keep feeling dead)
and that's all on the topic of people who need to drink to be interesting x
I love the anothomy and physiology.
I love this language.
That language so familiar and  easy.
I can read it all my day.
I understand every foreigh language word.
Everything so clear and understood.
I love it, it is so interesting and comprehensible.
Jaden Rivera May 9
Can nothing ask
Why it is there
If it’s nothing in the first place?
Jenna Apr 20
Succulent flourishes
a brief sense of essence
fleeting life within a blade of grass
cutting reality by a sliver
rational itching sensation
overwhelming pit of doom
distinct summary, concluded
the life we call ours is no more
falling one by one in a green field
filled with dread and suspense
being consumed with blinding greed
Not sure where I went with this.
boredom: byproduct
of keeping our mouths shut. trapped
by illusion: time
hahahaha i wrote this when i was taking exams rEEEE
I was thinking
A thought

That turned into flashes
of grandeur, greatly mundane, yet profound storytelling
of the conscious mind's eye

Yet, I fall into the trap of tracing and chasing
the dream ...

I fall into the trance of
tracing back, a transient feel
yet, feeling so out of place

Placed - here, and here I hear it
A thought, that became a stream of opening
That fluidness of it's true nature
of becoming a story - that never happened

- Yet, feels like reality -

I wake up
And think about my memories of my day to day experience
I see them like I see my dreams
I can NOT distinguish between one or the other (in past tense)

Yet, there is something so real
Yet, fake about a memory
Because a dream is rememebered the same way as a memory

That is the fine line, I constnalty walk upon
Dream/Reality remeberence
say Mar 4
I do not need you, I remind myself as I constantly think about you.
You are just an accessory in my life, something optional, something extra.

In my mind, I do not need you.

Yet in my heart,
You are the only necessity.
AB Feb 25
I’ve been snacking all morning.
Chips,
Fruit,
Soda,
Even a delicious scotcheroo.
But now it’s lunch time and I have nothing
Left....
So I sit here idly staring out the window.
Thinking of the snacks I had just hours earlier;
Wishing I’d saved them for this moment.

The light of the vending machine glows in my peripheral vision.
Snacks and treats begging to be bought for the measly sum of $1.
All those snacks I could have,
But I’ll just look out this window.
Enjoying my break without lunch.
Something a little different for the odd day I’m having
Matterhorn Feb 22
Across the room,
Through the undulating mass;
Somehow, we discover,
Inexplicably,
Each other's eyes.
She holds my gaze for but a moment,
Then quickly looks away,
Timidly brushing aside a curly strand of hair,
Staring anywhere else.

In the corridor,
Swiftly walking, pushing and shoving;
Our eyes meet once again,
And again,
Her pupils dart immediately to the left or right,
Studying the wall,
Suddenly in love with the smeared fingerprints and tacky posters.
I silently hope to be perceived once again
As she disappears.

Often, it seems
This process repeats.
Who is she?
What is her name?
How is it that, without fail,
We find each other
In one world or another,
One intrigued, the other embarrassed?
For the sake of the miracle, I refuse to know.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
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