Tanpo

It feels like if Im closer to my passions I m closer to you, Your breaths spreading out from them, so familiar I ve been trying to trace your possible footprints Similar silhouette Guessing where you could show up like a dove blue shadow Sometimes I feel its all in vain You are beyond my dimension Sometimes I feel we overlap each other Like fog and beams But these arent enough, these are far less than enough I would like to die out from the worlds where you don't really exist Or be able to stroke each other with the same kind of skin Not like fog and beam 仿佛当我更接近我的那些热情时我能够离你更近 你的呼吸从它们之中散处 如此亲近 我不断试图追寻你可能的足迹、 猜想你可能隐然现身的场所 有时我感到一切全都是徒劳的 你仿佛远在另一个永远无法触及的纬度 有时，我感到你我交叠 如同光和雾 但这一切，远远，远远不够 我想永远消亡于任何你所不存在的世界 或者 和你能够用同一种类的肌肤相触 而非光与雾

I don't have other supporters. I fight all alone. Enemies flood to me from all directions. Whereever I go. So I often lose my mind. Cyan coat armor, almost tattered, flutters in the wind solitarily. Who knows that in the huge coat armor there is just a body of a little kid. He often cries with his body uncontrollably trembling. He has been hurt so many times that he started to become numb. But everyday brand new scars bloom in the blank parts on his skin. Bloom on the old scars on his skin. Bloom in his heart. Like flowers. Tinny wild flowers, which keep singing songs that he can not totally comprehend. Deafeningly. He has to always stay alone. To avoid harm he has to stay alone. He gets insane. He is dying to have someone to salvage him from the coat armor deep as the ocean. To stroke him cheeks. To kiss his wounds. To see his tears. To give him a name. To cherish his pride. To rebuke his self- mutilation. To protect him. Like treating a child. For what he stays here?

My life is like a whirlwind   Everything is unstoppingly   Stirring, constantly, spinning   Not stopping for a single moment   Not peace for a single moment.   Nothing is certain people going in and out of my life everyone   Hastily   Fast conversations   Inconstanct judgements   No one stays   Nothing is still   Even the ground   Also already collapsed   I float in the air   Spinning with the whirlwind   Crazily flying spinning flapping   Not stopping for a moment   Crazily flying spinning flapping   I can also get tired, like everyone does   Or from a certain moment,   Shortly after the start of the whirlwind, or before the start   I was already exhausted.   I have been trying, trying my best,   Putting enormous efforts   In the whirlpool of everything   In the inconstancy of everything   In the endless ever-lasting collapse, birth and demise of everything   To find something relatively stable, static, fixed, still   To allow me a moment of rest-   Whe

I have little time left Now I'm drunk and high on the bench of the central park Singing and yelling with my friends with beers in hand Planning about the next day The chicks of yesterday's night club The stores at the west corners The hotties in the gay's ball that pat my crotch "Hey man" I said to Jack, "Bet what's the color of the next day's sun" "I bet the first hot chick that we see tomorrow it's red" said Ivan. "So do I" said  Ken. " Has to be white." Parker thinks it's gonna be yellow. I bet the rest of my life, that it will be black. Then we get up and hang around in the empty street of the midnight With arms on each other's shoulders, with beers between our thumbs and the other fingers. Whistling to the cute smiling streetwalkers Cursing at the mosquitoes of the early summer I still want to see how my mom's doing She must have been crying day and night For her only son wh

Miss you so much that I become incomplete. Things in sight become incomplete. My understanding becomes incomplete. My memories incomplete. My sleep incomplete. Joy incomplete. Sadness incomplete. Laughters and smiles incomplete. Tears incomplete. Dreams incomplete. Reality incomplete. Eyes incomplete. Breaths incomplete. Steps incomplete. Jumps incomplete. Speeches incomplete. Wounds incomplete. Days incomplete. Nights incomplete. Mornings incomplete. Itchiness incomplete. Anger incomplete. Pain incomplete. Thoughts incomplete. Mind incomplete. Consciousness incomplete. Heart incomplete. Soul incomplete. Existence incomplete. Life incomplete. Death incomplete.

When I was young I trampled a small white butterfly deliberately out of pure malice. I was a decent little girl of 10, loving little animals and lovely things like almost all kids do. But that day in the afternoon playing by myself,  looking at that little white spot of butterfly flying in a hurry lowly in the short grasses, a stubborn impulse driven by a strange, unknown, unexplainable desire flushed upon me absurdly, so I started to trot, following that poor little thing that was shining in the sunshine, up and down, that seemed to have noticed my devil intention and tried hard to flee. But as a human being thousands of times lager than her, I caught her easily, with my feet. The split second after I've done, remorse, as absurd and stubborn as the impulse, occupied my mind instantly. So I didn't dare to bend and check her little body in the grass and flowers, stunned for a few seconds, and walked away. But every time after that, whenever I see a white butterfly, flying up an