I feel most alive
when I haven't slept much
because it is then (or now)
that I am least in control
and it feels as though the hard calluses have been worn off
and the softness of my hands has lost its skin
and now the world is gritty-
now it is wild, now it is free, and the morning air is fresh
dawn dew brushing over my hoarse throat
my sore feet gently held by the grass blades
that do not cut- my soul and body is raw and stinging
my memory is impaired and my mind transfers slowly,
the filters have been removed and the neurons fire in all directions
if you ask me a question I shall respond with a nod, a hug, or nothing
for I do not know what I should do to elicit a reaction
I only exist objectively and cannot change to fit the subjective
this is me, take me as you will-
I shall never be more free and alive than I am now,
for I have forgotten how to keep control.