4.18.12

a fog surrounds me;

i am out of sync.

arms reach out in front of me,

and i look for their owner.

i am alone, yet

a body is here, with me.

i wonder whose it is.

the classroom vibrates, waves,

slides from real to not-real,

appears, disappears.

voices chatter.

"...she got a moon dragon-like what the fuck?"

"...did you get for 42?"

i tune out, then try to listen again-

but the language has changed.

unintelligible buzzing surrounds me,

explodes, dies out.

i am not here.

why am i here?

i know where i should be,

not where i find myself.

why do i hallucinate like this?

suddenly, violently,

the world is harshly real,

and i recoil in shock.

die, die, die, die

the voice screams in my head.

nothing is worth this!

then, hazily,

the world is gone again.

i am a spirit, a phantom,

a nothing.

i fade out,

moving invisibly, silently.

my vision is perfect,

unreliable.

my head lies to me-

how could this be real?

legs, hands, arms, chest, hips-

not mine, not mine!

i have been crammed into a shape,

a physical boundary,

and i do not fit.

i press against lines that hurt like scars,

confining me.

i shrink away from lines that betray me,

sharp knives tearing my soul apart.

no space, no space!

i am too big, too small,

too not-me.

searching, desperately, for an answer-

why?-

i try to squeeze my body to fit.

starve, starve, starve-

shrink within my own lines!

thrust into a reality,

a false world,

a false me!

i cut my skin,

leaking out with the blood, escaping.

get out of here!

run away!

but the world is real,

and i am not,

how could a dream be real?

how could reality be a dream?

no!

suffocating,

yes!

finding space

among the trees, ferns, the plants.

this body, this stolen, unwanted body

fades out,

like i wish i could.

the contrast is garish,

horrible.

kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it-

survive, live, be alive!

life, so beautiful, so unreal.

the search for truth,

how can one search for truth

in an imaginary world?

again, the classroom fades in,

chattering comes alive,

discomfort returns,

death is but a dream,

life likewise.

what is left?

only me, alone.