By Tyler Plofker
I’ve become disjointed. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, only that it has.
No longer sitting in my body, I stand apart from it, above it, watching on. Empty, it cannot do anything itself. I bring it food and water, shove them into its mouth, wedge my hand into its throat and force them down.
Sometimes I make it do things. Things I used to enjoy when I was it. I move its limbs around, push its body where it needs to go. Slap its fingers against the keyboard. Not that it likes this. But if we ever come back together, I want it to remember how.
Tyler Plofker is a writer living in NYC. In his free time, you can find him eating sugary breakfast cereals, laying out in the sun, or walking through the streets of New York City in search of this or that.