#eightymilliseconds
It isn’t easy to walk, gravity weighs.
The biosuits lock the mind
in a narrow space.
An interpretive blow is crucial:
Does being on the other side of the mirror
truly want it, or only think it does?
A thumb drives into the right temple.
The heart pumps hectoliters of warm liquid.
Colours, sounds, tensions in the eternal swirl.
Delay in processing—eighty milliseconds
it isn’t a flaw.
It takes that long for all the cogs to turn.
Everything I do now is already in the past.
Decisions made long ago spit me out
into this reality with some name.
I am the last, but not least,
in the collective dream and blink of time.
Minds sway like golden grain, ready to be cut.
I can stand up or lie on the ground.
I walk—
toward the next stumble,
the next wound, and maybe healing.
Insights glow like yellow lanterns,
giving me some light.
No justification, no understanding.
My self-awareness is not a cozy couch.
One day,
I will stop existing, and I accept that.
I’m just afraid to leave those who still love me.
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 11:30 AM UTC