self-image

Dreaming, I always open my eyes wide to see clearly.
Like a trip without drugs, a head without body,
insubstantial, running around like an immaterial ghost,
existing in the head only. I’m being alienated by this other SELF,
dissolving in a moment, nothing about me is real.
Everything is like in a dream, spongy, strange in the mirror.
My hand hovers in the air without the body that belongs to it.
The SELF has a continuously changing voice,
which I cannot reconcile with myself.
Telephone calls become a misery, as there’s always an observer,
sometimes outside of the body sometimes inside, but I think always there.
I stole myself my SELF, as if I was part of a computer game.
Dizziness. Clouds. Oxygen in the brain.
Sweating. I see myself walking through life like a poor copy of my SELF,
the negative of my own colour photo.
I would have to crawl to stand upright.
But what do you tell a doctor, sorry, but I’m so foggy?

     
           
   
     
     
   
   
     


         
   

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