The Exact Opposite Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

I put my hands over a freezing fire
I fall to the ground and land on a soft rock
I look up to the sky and what do i notice
A group of worms burrowing into the clouds
I cannot feel the warmth with the shoes on my hands
Nor can i feel the cold with the gloves on my feet
I can see the suffering with my own ears
I can hear the torment with my own eyes
I shout with a whisper
I whisper with a shout
I am dead and i am conscious of that
I am beaming with life and cannot feel a thing
Yes i am confused, bordering the depths of craziness
That is how i was made, molded and shaped
Because the world led me to believe
That what is bad is in fact good