head trip

Your field of vision has a floater in it. You can’t tell if it’s a particle of dust or if it’s an amoeba, but it’s lingering there, growing in size, obscuring your sight.

You clearly see the edge of the abyss, an opalescent smoldering as the world shrivels away.

Suddenly, you are abstraction.

A fluid-like entity at the edge of materiality. A tight-rope walker exploring from a ledge atop the void.

You breathe, and feel your ribs, your heart, the wind.

You jump.

You fall into the darkness, believing more than anything else, in the fall. Soon, there is nothing anymore, not even YOU.

Time passes.

Slowly, your senses return. Your fingertips, your knees, your shoulders remind you of their existence.

Back to life again.