dissociate

erupt from this fragile prison
of flesh     feel
brushstrokes of leaves
slip through the sleeves
of the soul
as it swims in midnight blue

a mind lost     perfectly
in cosmic consciousness
in chimeric narration     a carcass
in the hands of another     and plans
to the fire of fate

but for the others
to dissociate is a great
ill     in appearance
for them it seems worth the trade:
a soul     for a sliver
of coherence