He left, approached a door:
I try to open it without looking or thinking.
Something opens
but the door did not open.
Worlds blend together;
nothing is definite.
He looked down and—
my hand is not there
my body, disconnected
Did he kill himself?
I thought
just by thinking it?
Is this
what death
is like?
strangely calm, evanescent
I don’t need to turn to see that
I am bodiless, my body mindless, I feel that my
corpse
is here
alive, and—
his own?
Separation; fear.
His mind returned to our body.
—something closed.