The Awful Cynic’s Bedtime Prayer

I am infinitely blessed
By my arbitrary fortune.
How lucky to have a perch
From which to view
The misery of my country,
How lucky to have a pen to write
Of my misgivings for the future.

How lucky that solitude and spaghetti can be purchased
For just P50 at Jollibee (provided it isn’t lunch hour)
No need, even, to go to the Starbucks down the street (though I could, if I choose).

How luxurious is my indecision
Which comes from being faced
With myriad lifestyles to choose from
To put on and take off
As inconsequentially as trying dresses
from a closet.

How blissful is my loneliness,
That I have been left (or did I leave her?)
By a partner with whom I could not be happy.
I still harbor the precious illusion
Of perfect understanding
Of someone, someday, who would see my wants
Not as quirks to be tolerated
But as dreams to be celebrated.

Rising to the top of the world,
One’s field of vision expands
to accommodate more and more misery,
More and more things to chase and want.
And as the fruit grows full and heavy,
the branches strain under the weight,
and the animals gather to feed.

God is real, and he’s an asshole.
So don’t thank him,
Thank the roll of the dice
That landed you here.


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