I Feel...

I feel like I am smiling
faintly and weakly; perhaps
I am awake in some artificial state.

I feel like I am asleep, but maybe, perhaps
I am being being preserved in
some insomniac capsule.

There is an air of content and dull
happiness
about me,
I wonder if it's real?
Genuine?

Or perhaps
I am drugged?

I want to write some pure, sweet poetry, like,
"... and everyone was happy,
within this moonlit melody,"

but all that comes to me is morbid
and wrong.

This is a weird state,
like play-dough,
like jell-o.

I'm sitting here and rotting in it all,
but I think there's a smile upon my lips.