You’ll never be happy,
but you can read a lot of books.
You can carve out some
corner of existence for yourself
and you can wrap yourself in blankets
and stare at the Internet
and download all the music you want.
You can pretend that you live
in a parallel dimension so it’s easier to
ignore all of the petty conversations of trifling folk.
Yeah, your dimension was destroyed,
but you might as well tough it out.
You deserve Netflix and Hulu
and high speed Internet.
You can rewatch all the anime
from your childhood. You can
perfect lucid dreaming.
You can read all of Huruki Murakami’s books
and be oddly comforted when you think about
the Suicide Forest in Japan.
You can lose a lot of weight
but only eating hummus and carrots
and the occassional Pop Tart,
and you can start a Look Book.
You live in a palace of ice.
None of this matters.