Wonderland?

I'm not really sure, it just kind of wrote itself, ya know? Like most poetry does.

to wonderland?
But, we're not all mad in that world,
if anything, we're mad in reality.
Mad with envy
Mad with hate
Mad with utter madness.
but pills,
they take away the mad.
you're just floating along,
in a river of softened reality.
Padding the horrid truth of things,
Making them seem softened around the edges,
More cozy.
Like, when you open your curtains in winter when it’s snowing those really big flakes,
And plug in your Christmas tree,
And sit and read in a big cozy sweater with a cup of tea.
A bit of honey, some sugar.
Because then,
Everything is so small,
Nothing else outside your bubble matters.
None of the bullshit of reality,
None of the grief your boss,
Or parents,
Or significant other,
Or your friends
Gave you.
None of it is relevant,
None of it matters
None of it seems real.