Loosing every battle

It was a long time ago when tied hands and white shirts defined madness. It is the contemporary circumstances in which we live today that messed up the perception of madness and its form. I can shake my body a hundred times in this minute and look at a dot in the wall and everything could still be totally fine with me. Fine? What it feels like to be fine? What does it look like? Have you seen it? Have you heard about it from someone? Or have you felt it? Or you are not really sure? Do you know what being not fine is like? Is it scary? Does it feel good? Is it exciting? Can you get rid of it? How do you become it? Or are you born with it? Who decides which one of us is going to be fine and which one of us won’t? Is it luck? Is it punishment? Is it a gift? Can you describe it? I might have heard of it. I might have not. I need you to explain it briefly as if I might remember. I might not. But I might be fine. I might be not. I might be what you or him or her or them like to call mad. Or madness it is. Is it? It is? What? Are you confused by all of the question marks? What makes you think I’m not? You thought I had it together didn’t you? So did I. So did everyone. They still do. I still do. Or do I?