POEM

It's strange how far I feel,
Far from myself I mean.
Or perhaps it's more like far in myself.
I'm here;
I hear them.
I see them.
I feel them.
But only from far.
As if I was bewitched to live everything at the third degree.
But who would have bewitched me?
I don't have enemies that are skilled and fierce enough to do that.
Oh it's no use pondering over the author of an ill I don't even mind.
Yes, I think I like it.
It's weirdly comfortable,
A feeling that is quarter drowsiness,
Quarter detachment,
Quarter high and
Quarter I don't know what.
Feeling numb makes me feel less vulnerable.

But a misty cloud of fear surrounds me.
What if I can't ever grasp full control again?
What if something awful happened tomorrow
And I was unable to react appropriately?
But what is 'appropriately' first?
Is it what people think normal?
And who are those people?
Majority? Upper class? Intellectuals?
And what if while I'm asking these questions my bewitcher is
Creating a more devastating spell for my confused mind?
Is there no shield to protect myself from those forces?
If yes, where can I find it?
Why couldn't life be a f*cking choose-and-order service?
After all, we already have an almighty owner,
Ineffective HRM and slow and unreliable customer care.