squiggle

i stopped
interacting
with the
electronically
altered reality
unplugged
the lead from
my churning mind
but without that
outlet
i feel myself
slipping away
my tenuous grasp
on my own
existence
has become
an overbearing
silence in which
i do not have
any interaction
with the world
in any way
i read and research
accumulating
new ideas
with only the
wind chimes
to ease the mood
i cannot tell
which is more of
an unhealthy
alternative
drowning in
this silence
my madness acting
as the only buffer
between me
and the void
or the pavlovian
timesink of
basking in those
momentary endorphins
as strangers
react to my
random thoughts
i am freefalling
unsure which cord
is the parachute
and which one is
the self destruct
the wind whistling
through my wispy
insignificance
as the ground
races towards me
unplugged
untethered
unresponsive
with no external
stimuli at all

i am a squiggle
when god blinks
an afterimage of
colossal failure
forgotten instantly

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