Losing My Touch

I’d hate to think that I’m losing my touch,
With reality, with thoughts—it’s just too much.
The dynamics, to me, are quite unclear
Who, or what, am I supposed to be here?

I hate these emotions that I suddenly feel
I’m aware of it now, I’m not made out of steel.
More oft than naught I’ve this particular fear
I no longer enthrall, I’m no longer dear.

Tears don’t flow, I feel like a fool
I just load the memories and rewind the spool.
Here is your mission, here is your deal
When in doubt, just play back the reel.

I hate this feeling of being stuck in a rut,
Life’s just a miserable punch to the gut,
I’m consumed as such, by this thought of a wall,
The view is opaque, the puzzle’s a scrawl.

Things aren’t happening. Things are stuck.
I’m just flailing my arms, I’m running amuck.
I’m tightroping a thread, I’m stuck in a tyre;

My head’s in a bag
The bag is on fire.

 
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