I Tripped On a Rock

I tripped on a rock and died.

I tripped on a rock that was left on the floor by my bed, and I instantly fell out of my body and became a bundle of rags hanging in the air.

I tripped on a rock that was left on the floor by my bed, and I fell out of my body and became a bundle of rags hanging in the air, and  I drifted on gusts and fumes through each of my daily routines, but I am not there; I watch from the back, I watch the world happen to myself.

I tripped on a rock, and I died, and I have drifted through this week on currents of air, and I am more broken, I am more ragged, but without my body I am numb, and I slowly fall back into bed and hope that I have the energy to stitch my rags together once more, lest I come completely unraveled.

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