College Years Poem by Kyle Stengline

Hours before there may have been a classroom overwhelmed by the punctuality of maturing minds, but I was not present. Rather I was welcomed by a sofa I've never met, and comfortability was a mutual feeling in this respect. The face of a clock somewhere might have read 2 or 3, but no indication nor evidence inclined to my whereabouts. Some ornamental concoction with fancy colors and neon lights echoed in my hazy eyes. On most nights and rainy days, I would concoct a buzz with some imaginative chemistry and be bewildered by the effects. And the soundless tone of an incoming call vibrated heavily on a table, to which no answer was received.