Floating head.

That floating head, that silly, beautiful floating head. Why does it control me, use me? How do I make it’s magical ability to fly above all the other mundane heads that need necks stop? Why does your head float when I am left grounded and in dispute with the body that has supported it, cared for it. The analytical ability and the creative expressionism, a jumbled mess of hormones, synaptic impulses and chemicals. How does it float? How can I perceive it so freely yet it make me feel so reserved and gated. Take your silly, beautiful floating her and bolt it too the fleshy cage it once had, that is equality, true equality. You’ll rot like me, you eat like me, breathe like me, why can’t you be like me? I’m breathless. You’re full of air. I hope you soon burst.


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