FicWad

Like a machine, churning out ideas,
But then the programmed me stops to draw a breath,
To sketch it out on paper and see that the world is still turning,
Endlessly.

I wonder if feelings are only for the dead,
A state of numbness that controls me again,
I glance up at the sky and I realise that I am so
Insignificant.

Programmed by society to act this way,
Told what to do, who to be, how to smile,
A smile hides bitter tears and a thousand fears,
I am fake.

These words seem to fall naturally onto the page,
My spinning head shuts off and I become unaware,
And even though I can’t feel, won’t feel, I find a way,
To understand.