Disorientation

Is it possible to fall in love with probabilities,
To fall in love with a soul that’s a maybe,
To fall in love with intangible realities.

Then why is it that I have fallen
For the just barely.

These semblances
Keep resonating inside
Archaic echoes of concentric conceptions
Of discomforting dazes in ecstasies
Where eyes of a deranged criminal cackled
Then cracked in crippling dins of
Dined vehement emanations.

Integrations of cyclical motions
Deduced as fragments of
Kaleidoscopic ignitions.

Still,
With her nonexistent voice,
She urges:
“Push”,
Within exceeded pain thresholds
In jolts of crumbling lulls.

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