Etched attachment.

When you’ve got everything figured out,

When you “think” you’ve recovered,

And ready to be out and about,

There’s an urge to feel smothered and shuttered.

You realise you’ve been pulled down again,

By your convictions, like a crashing plane.

Antithetically, you become numb, although in pain.

All your efforts towards contentment, in vain.

You start procrastinating on nothing and everything.

Your life decisions feel like a bee sting.

You feign anxiety but you’re so used to it,

That you use tragedies in the form of wit.

You start this ‘attachment’ bit to feel things.

You start etching yourself off things you’d rather get rid of.

You soon realise it’s not a skit and there are strings attached

And things are as chaotic as the mournful dove.

So you take up the mission to etch yourself off the attachment.

Trying your best to shove away the sentiment.

You succeed! You’re alone and ready to be out and about.

And that’s when you think you’ve got

Everything figured out.