Surrounded
circle-fashion
by friends long-past
-maybe overdue-
at a glowing table
nestled deep within a white bar.
Frothing like a cauldron,
bubbles and pockets of past
our past, I guess
erupting over the table
each bursting
upon encountering the pride-filled prick
of my lack of interest.
I float grimly along
skating hidden incandescent
watching passively as my cloud is drained
upon understanding
that these people,
these friends of old,
notice, understand, and do not care
that I certainly do not.
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