Unconscious Content

Frantic thoughts fill a fleeting mind
As all relativity proceeds to unwind.
No longer does time to space bind
The mysterious mentality I now find.

How peculiar a moment
In which mind and body
Do not join as one,
But rather function alone,
As if the other they shun.

Limbs move about in
Perfectly normal function,
Yet the brain sends no
Signal of instruction upon
Which to base their action.
Instead I am floating
About in the depths of my
Own unconscious consciousness,
As an atom drifts about the air
With desultory delight.

I have no direction,
Nor intention or desire.
If a search were the case
The campaign would be dire.
But I am content with
My wandering thoughts,
Pondering memories for answers
To questions I know not.

Like a dream played
Before me,
With eyes opened wide,
I perceive my surroundings
With a distracted divide.
My memory fails to
Replay the scene, the musical
Vibrations I hear in between,
Just a soft, soothing baseline
Upon which I drift into
Daydream, until sight means
Nothing to my jumbled,
Jumping, unconscious stream.

The expression upon my face
Remains unchanged, nothing new.
Muscles tight and contentedly so,
Lips held shut as if by glue.
Nothing exists. Not even I.
For everything appears
As though of a dream,
Unfamiliar, not mine,
Yet deceiving eyes do gleam.
I enjoy this displacing effect,
In which I see fine,
But ignore reality's undying defect,
And perceive a world which is only mine.