Something slips in the machinery of the mind. Not a crack, not a break, just an infinitesimal misalignment. Suddenly I am standing beside myself, in a place with no coordinates.

The body continues without waiting. A tremor rises as I’m returning to a house I no longer live in. I’m witnessing my own actions and it feels like spotting movement in a dark window you’re trying not to look into. Thoughts spitfire fast but ownerless. A syntax trying to assemble itself without the person who used to sign the bottom of the page.

What is a body without a self? Unreality. Surface. Problem. A field. Where anything could take root and nothing survives the seasons.

I try to re- enter the shape but I don’t feel my legs anymore. If they were ever mine. And I’m losing my mind. Things lost belong to no one. The boundary thins- thins- thins- until “mine” feels like a name written on wet glass - fading. It is not numbness but displacement. Consciousness exiled. Ego unsoldered from the frame. Hyper-awareness of unavoidable non-existence. A ghost shaped by memory, watching life land on the body without passing through a self.

Here’s the violence: when you are nothing, nothing can truly harm you. and that invulnerability is its own violation. The soft mechanical voice returns, sterile, but strangely comforting: Erase yourself. If you cannot bear to be you, step out of the shape. Leave the lights on. Leave the door unlocked.

ERASE YOUR SELF: This stubborn congregation of cells trapped in choreography, dysfunctional but refusing to leave. My mind thinks. I don’t recognise it. A body lives. I don’t know who for. I watch with the helpless horror of witnessing your own hand caress a stranger. First goes the name.

Then the gravity of “mine.” Then the emotional handwriting. Then the point of view. Then the I.

And when the system keeps running with no user logged in, when the restart stutters in endless boot loops - awareness survives, identity doesn’t.

There is no mystery left. No metaphor. No afterthought.

A body without a self is weight. Weight falls. Let it.

If I don’t belong anywhere, anymore

I belong in the ground