Exit Ego

Am I original?

Not really,

Regurgitating the underlined

Statement in a sentence read aloud by a

Generation of the traumatized,

Wading through projections

And self-actualizations to

Sustain presence.

Capitalizing off emotional purging

To the ump degree of masochism

In hopes of feeling something real.

Waiting through the dry heaves of

Partial thoughts of fragmented remnants,

Why am I even here?

The part of me that feels most at home is the unconscious connectivity that possesses my

Limp body from time to time in a psychedelic frenzy or trance inducing meditation.

I am the dirt from the bottom of the oceanic

Abyss

And the chlorophyll in a natural occurring marijuana plant growing somewhere out west.

Uncomfortably at peace with the time it takes to feel whole again,

Or maybe for the first time.