I miss the comfort of ‘not yet,’ when everything was a possibility
that could easily become irrelevant if only shouting ‘hold your horses!’
to the offspring of impatience and thirst proved to be anything
but a fool’s errand. But nature knows no respect, and there was no moé
that could save me from what I had left behind in the muddy trenches.
Now the late life of mine is but a mere hindrance, leaving a bitter aftertaste
that occasionally soils my otaku path to the Shangri-la of demise.
‘Pain doesn’t kill.’ ‘I know that, you daft prick—its cause does; it might.’ I thought
I was used to it—it’s been three years, after all—but lately it has gotten worse,
waking me up too early in the morning—which in itself is a real pain
because how can I get through the day on too little sleep?—and restricting my movements.
Yet, I do nothing about it because going to the doctor seems like a hassle I’d rather avoid,
and I hate pills.
It’s not like I suddenly discovered some hitherto latent adoration for the Book of Job
or awakened masochistic tendencies, though I suspect the almighty geezer,
who, it turns out, lived in an apartment in Brussels, would love that. On second thought,
he wouldn’t—where’s the fun when the tormented get pleasure from the ordeal? In reality,
it’s probably about energy conservation and the fact that I’ve already produced offspring,
or I’m just lazy.
hidden pilcrow 