Voluntary Japan

how bad sh*t is 

When you realize

you cannot even afford to get sick

for a few days

Or just 

sleep a little more to heal 

You can’t afford not to smile —

or to be genuine and

speak your real condition

I must have the almighty power paper —

The value-bestowing zeroes and ones

But like the gods I’ve abandoned before

this one’s also engineered to destroy

its worshippers

So I float on,

a godless, broke, half-hobbled pagan

Constant pain —

not sure if the pain’s sometimes from healing

or just the path to final decay 

Unable to sleep, and almost fully now

unable to dream much of a future 

But I do still dream when I sleep

in those tiny, precious hours time expands

and godless as I may be to all the others —

as bitter and critical and needling sardonic —

There’s still this glowing thing in me

That is the only thing I ever really was

I want to take it to a small village

in the woods, or by the sea, or both

And live there, above and forever separate

from this madness