Hollow body

I sleep on a bed in the clouds.
Every evening I climb my abstraction staircase to get there.
I'm entering my bubble now, world.

This is another morning where I don't feel anything.
Sleep doesn't matter to a hollow body.
My today's and yesterdays just blur into one... continuous... sound of static.

My phone is like an implant. My computer too. They live inside, not outside, my head.
When I wake, my conscious brain takes no longer than a second to be drawn into their wormhole.
This physical world... pssshh... forget about it. It's boring. Everything looks the same in the morning as when I went to bed. The only way its going to change is if I act on it. That's boring. I rely on change. I neeeeeeeed change. I need to know what's going on. I need something sweet. I need to see a tweet. Show me a fucking tweet!

Okay, phew... proof that something happened. That something is happening.

I feel as if I do not know whose this body is that I am living in. One day I feel as if I am on my path, another day I feel like this future that I am living in forked off from my one true future, which forked again, and then forked again, and then it got forked and forked, forked, forked, forked, until it was so forking far from the original I don't even know where I am anymore. Perhaps leaving everything that I know to go sit in a field to contemplate that will help? As if that won't be another huge fork. Nope. Its a double bind.

How will I know my path before me? How will I be able to tell it from the path of others? Of someone else.

Of course life is a dance. Neither am I in control, nor is the universe. It is a dance.

Perhaps if I practice my dancing, I can feel more whole.