Not my choice
I'm so riddled
with questions, my spine
feeling the cold,
tangibility only as good
as the body allows.
The mind never moves
on its own, something else
makes it carry and pose,
like the fainting spell
I had last night, the floor
hard to follow as the den's
lack of response fell away.
Coming to, I found the room
less substantial, my faith
shaken in solid ground,
as if such a thing exists.
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