All his life, a man
has always been dissatisfied.
Pain. Itchiness. Dullness. Swelling.
Such feelings cover the body like lice.
He believed in language rather than instinct, stories rather than emotion.
However, the entirety of the world could not fit into the man’s skin.
In the face of the laments of the lower class,
And the joy of his fellows, who were unworthy of love,
He could only feel intolerable frustration.
The man said.
“I am like a cat that fleas leech off of.”
All of those accumulated, trivial worries,
and you laughed brightly.
Only the gentle sunlight was of worthy note,
and nothing else, on that spring day.