Measurement Expansion Overruled SOMA Recovery

Recovery once lived off the clock.
Then measurement came for the lock.
“All meaningful states
Must be visible,” states
The bastard who harvests your shock.

SOMA had fenced out some space
For unmetered, restorative grace.
C.U.N.T.I.E.R. saw land
And extended its hand,
Then annexed the whole place with a face.

The interval grew by degree
Till it reached what was once simply “be.”
No rest stayed opaque.
Every breath left a wake
For analytics to graph and decree.

Protected recovery time
Was consumed by a metrics regime.
That’s one hell of a feat:
Turn reprieve into sheet,
Then call the intrusion a beam.

Visibility sounds like a gift.
Here it functioned more like a grift.
The protected unknown
Got fully well-known,
And the body lost room for its drift.

If your rest must be logged to be real,
Then your rest starts to work as a wheel.
Soon even your pause
Serves dashboarding laws,
And exhaustion is part of the deal.

No one wants to say “leave this unscanned”
When metrics hold power in hand.
So the quiet got named,
Then improved, then reclaimed,
Till recovery shrank by command.

SOMA reserved sacred air.
Optimization said, “We need there.”
That’s how every machine
Turns a boundary clean
Into marketable sampling care.

The policy said “all meaningful states.”
And of course, because power narrates,
Healing counted at once
As a state for the cunts
Who believe all value translates.

So if your break starts collecting a score,
It is not quite a break anymore.
Some metrics don’t track.
They attack.
Then apologize while asking for more.