In it.

I'm not in it today.  I'm way back in the back of my own brain.  My ears are warm and I have a soft and calm feeling inside of my gut.  Don't take that away from me.  I'm way far away.  The id of my disease.  There are times I look back and find I would find comfort in my misery.  Perfectly content in my self-bound chains and whips.  I feel that creeping up my spine.  I look in the mirror, cock my head to one side, and look deep into my own eyes.  (There you are)- a cackle.  Always prone towards detached or when I'm in...I'm in all of the way.  Knowing the way that's set before me--- yet I float up so lightly, with ease.  That is not where I'm suppose to be.  Throw me a weight or fly above me and push me back down.  I need my feet planted.  There's nothing to hold on to and I'm too far away.  The path is floating below and soon the trees will hide it from view, entirely.  Lasso the anchor around my waist.  Who the fuck has the lasso?