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#outofbody
I don’t know how to write. I have no finesse, I don’t understand the rules I’m pretty sure I used that comma wrong. I never amounted to anything. I don’t know… no I know my being too self aware put me here. There’s something about walking a line that keeps you balanced but I tipped to far over to one side. My mind is going. I can feel it. I’m not sure if I detached too hard or if my mind is just really giving up. My mind feels silent and noisy all at once. I know I’m confused but I don’t want to take the time to figure it out. Am I an imposter? Is any of this real? Why do I feel like I am floating but not in a good way. Is there even a good way to float. I feel high even when I am not. I have so much to say but no voice. Even if I had something to say is it important. Is it the sickness I now carry? Is it eating away at my brain? My motor function skills are loose and unsure. I used to be so confident and steady fast in these things. Is this man made or has it always been around: Am I over diagnosed? Is it this or is it that? Is it still too taboo to talk about? Does my anxiety and fibro make you uncomfortable? That’s funny because it REALLY makes me uncomfortable. Depression is real. Anxiety is real. It’s all real. Can’t be explained only experienced. Maybe you don’t like it. Maybe it’s too negative. Well it’s my life. It’s my reality. I’m not sorry if it interrupts your day just block me. Where is my brain. It’s almost gone.
0
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 9:53 PM UTC
Out of Body
I don’t know how to write. I have no finesse, I don’t understand the rules I’m pretty sure I used that comma wrong. I never amounted to anything. I don’t know… no I know my being too self aware put me here. There’s something about walking a line that keeps you balanced but I tipped to far over to one side. My mind is going. I can feel it. I’m not sure if I detached too hard or if my mind is just really giving up. My mind feels silent and noisy all at once. I know I’m confused but I don’t want to take the time to figure it out. Am I an imposter? Is any of this real? Why do I feel like I am floating but not in a good way. Is there even a good way to float. I feel high even when I am not. I have so much to say but no voice. Even if I had something to say is it important. Is it the sickness I now carry? Is it eating away at my brain? My motor function skills are loose and unsure. I used to be so confident and steady fast in these things. Is this man made or has it always been around: Am I over diagnosed? Is it this or is it that? Is it still too taboo to talk about? Does my anxiety and fibro make you uncomfortable? That’s funny because it REALLY makes me uncomfortable. Depression is real. Anxiety is real. It’s all real. Can’t be explained only experienced. Maybe you don’t like it. Maybe it’s too negative. Well it’s my life. It’s my reality. I’m not sorry if it interrupts your day just block me. Where is my brain. It’s almost gone.
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38
What's visibly here is not my soul My soul is not here as a whole Feeling as if I was in the 2nd dimension Or in the 6th dimension Forever shouting Forever panicking Forever crying Breathing becomes erratic I'm not being dramatic I can't find myself! Burying my face in my hands Peeling the skin off my face with my hands Feeling my nerves stinging and tingling Body is trying to make me stop but all I'm doing is self-punishing Body is trying to refrain from the limits I'm pushing Shouting at myself “Who am I?! Where am I?!" Lights around me dimly lit Seeing a light in the corner and rushing into it I keep finding myself all over the place I feel like a zombie out of place I feel like a duck that can't keep afloat Or a unsteady boat When I get that feeling when everything is a lie When nothing that makes sense meets my eye As if I were in Alice in Wonderland As if everyone were creations made of rubber bands I don't even know if you're fake or real I don't even know how to feel over this ordeal I can't get my soul to fit in the role I'm placing it on As if it's trying to act as a permanent con Endless suffering Endless buffering Endless switching Endless glitching If I were a cop I would put the problem to a immediate stop So I can meet the real you And I can meet the real me too
0
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 10:11 PM UTC
Out of Body
I live in this world and out of my body. When I speak the words slip from me as if being carried away by the wind. I look in the mirror and I don't truly know what I see. It's me, but it's also not me. It's all the people who came before me too. Will there be many after me? Will they look like me, talk like me, or think like me? Reality is something I think about often. If I'm alive then surely it must all be real, right?
0
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 6:00 PM UTC
Dissociation
I am disconnected from my entire self like these fingerprints I’ve known my whole life somehow aren’t mine. Out of body experiences and feeling like I’m on the outside looking in has become the norm. I’ve wiggled my way into these stories this background but I don’t belong here. Someone is going to notice call me out for being an imposter in my own life. I’ve existed for decades feeling like I’m living in someone else’s skin.
0
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Imposter Complex
I've thought of suicide before breathing my final days; Mi Amor Holding onto life at its core to be better than I was before I've thought about the impact devastation and the react Those that would come in contact them thinking thoughts about me My lifeless body..." yep, there's me" The visually impaired who didn't see another way Now others that stare in the same direction Share the same contacts Voices of opinions because everyone's entitled like the start of an adventure the deceased cannot change the title Some still in denial And others have already crossed the sea, And life will go on regardless of me.
0
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
If I was gone today.
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the                                parameters of my body. No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’         I witness dates         and         feel as an apprentice of such a trade might         an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity         Childhood is laced in linens of silk         Soft-spoken words         and         Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor         Depravity seems to chain my soul         which leads to         a Resolution in pixelation         due to        a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right My friends make me happy         but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &         half-full         one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes         for My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation         heavy on the mind         light keystrokes Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma i ask myself What good is it?         To be thoughtful         Yet have no action What good is it?         To fantasize         Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation What good is it?         To be dramatic         Yet have no one at your performance I do understand what it means to ‘be’         Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks                               -    lacking peaks    -         As I continue to lay under clothes line         Wrapped in a melody of melancholy But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’         My mind feels as a lemon candy might,         sour at first bite -         hollow on the inside, then gone         Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
0
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
Astral Projection
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the                                parameters of my body. No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’         I witness dates         and         feel as an apprentice of such a trade might         an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity         Childhood is laced in linens of silk         Soft-spoken words         and         Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor         Depravity seems to chain my soul         which leads to         a Resolution in pixelation         due to        a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right My friends make me happy         but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &         half-full         one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes         for My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation         heavy on the mind         light keystrokes Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma i ask myself What good is it?         To be thoughtful         Yet have no action What good is it?         To fantasize         Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation What good is it?         To be dramatic         Yet have no one at your performance I do understand what it means to ‘be’         Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks                               -    lacking peaks    -         As I continue to lay under clothes line         Wrapped in a melody of melancholy But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’         My mind feels as a lemon candy might,         sour at first bite -         hollow on the inside, then gone         Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
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48
temperatures stale apparitions lingering looking at oneself
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Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
temperatures stale [senryu]
The smoke has yet to lift. Giving the horizon a eerie feel. The whistle of death has long since passed. Even the thunder that lashed out so hungrily. Has been subdued with the souls scoured. Numerous holes are sporadically placed among the rubble. Some are filled. Like the contents of a blender set to mince. I peer into the stagnant pool that collected in the smoldering depths. Not even the earth seemed to want them. The urge to dive in overtakes my senses. And the remnant cries are getting stronger. With every breathe does my mind crystalize. Frozen in the moments that distort this rigid oasis of despair. The need to return beckons. Yet integration is nearly complete. These arms have become strangers. Just like the rest of this surrogate being. The storm is coming. But I remain. Watching. As the familiar figure takes its leave. Grinning with every step.
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Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
Integration 010716
All day long I live out of body. Just seeing flashes of a life worth living. I see a woman I don't recognize. But my gosh she's worth loving. When I see you undress, I could swear it's the first time. When you kiss me goodbye that feeling in my chest, knows you'll be right back. The things we share are far beyond the physical. We live together at the opposite end of superficial. I spend my whole day searching for you with the scent you left on my collar. Knowing you'll be back is never enough I need you now. I thought I found you once. But it was the wrong face right name. Why does my life feel like someone elses game? Will I ever find you when I bridge two planes. I could exist on another plane entirely. The way I look at you like your out of this world.
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Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
Planes Worth Jumping.
Have you ever been angry? So angry you've scared yourself. Because for a second you saw that face staring back from within. An immense depth fast approaching. So absent of light the only reason you caught a glimpse was those eyes. Beaming back at you with illumination so frightening your core began to shudder and rumble. Crumbled down and watched this beast claw its way out. Over rock and mortar. Through coarse cage of steel. Those cold eyes staring down - helplessly watching. This beast was once kept sealed. Who gave it this key to destruction. This shapeless fluid in motion soulless tragedy. Black velvet drape dipped in fiery energy. Pure hate which had been compressed for eternity. Now concentrated and intent on wreaking havoc. I sent my armies. I sent them all. Countless deaths and yet I sent more. Quick slaughter - not the painless type. This beast they could not stall. Thrashes of bodies. Clawed and torn. Festering flesh flying from fallen. Axe, Sword and Mace soaked, dripping in warm fresh blood-pounding hate. Shatters of armor and unrecognizable corpses. What do I do? It seeks me as a vessel - to be worn. I can feel the hate changing me. Quickly now or I'll soon deform.
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Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Nurturing the Beast
I walk through walls when I travel To a midnight blood orange sky Iridescent raindrops in soft motion All discerned with my third eye The astral world is tranquil But not everything is as it seems Creatures just heads are hiding Inside articulated trees Madly twirl to change the scenery Watch as fish swim in venetian glass Jump as high as painted mountain tops Then rest on undulating grass Weightless flights to brilliant Luna Imagination guides the course The realm of out of body A thread embroidered to our source
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Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
Out of Body
Opening my heart, opening my mind; I inhaled without regret and watched the world unwind. Comfortable in my non-proverbial sling-shot, I was catapulted from this Earth, out of my body and into Hyperspace: a sight of radiant splendor. Streams of bright, neon color soaked through my vision, illuminating the blanketed brilliance of the experience. This eternal round-about spun in wide circles around my being, rapidly gaining speed, taking flight. Time broke apart; it's pieces: fractured, severed and split into the expanse that lay all around me. The walls glistened; scintillating with fervent sparkle, a shimmering twinkle of prismatic grandeur. Breathing deep, I felt my spirit begin to return. With limbs outstretched I grasped for the reality I had just barley touched with ****** fingertips. Eyes opening back to the shadowbox of this existence, a singular tear escaped. Reappearing, I wept.
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Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
Dimethyltryptamine