Filter coffee Musings IV

Wrapped in a coccoon of happiness,
I have chosen to be blind
To all the questions that once plagued me,
When I was too tired to think.
Questions, that refuse to come back.
Contentment settles down like dust on a closed window,
Not allowing light to come in,
or the musty stale air inside to get out.
Locked in the comfort of numbness I lie,
Waiting for my spirit to rise again,
Waiting for inquisition to strike again,
Waiting for pain to agonise again.
But that won't happen, will it?
Either way, I lose.
Ah. Catch 22.