Tenderness is a habit.
Tenderness is just a habit and we’re unlearning everyday.
There are darker things than the nights I am always running from
angrily leering in the periphery of my eyes
and I am too scared to stop running, too scared and yet
not blissfully ignorant enough to be blind to the denial I am in.
It’s an awkward place to be inside when you know wholly where you are
and also have no desire to get out.
The periphery is a meeting place of two absences.
Books left untouched for too long start to emit a low moan.
Another busted light bulb and the circles are round, they have no end,
that’s how long I want you to be my friend, again,
and to take care of me
and fix the circuits in here
and in here.
The dreams I don’t sleep enough to let recur
murmur to me from the vents between my cortices
and the thoughts that build up through the little hours
and block their circulation-
cut off your hands,
nobody will hold them anyway.
I pretended not to hear until I wrote this down
and now I'm cowering.
A circle’s round, it has no end,
a circle’s round, it has no end.
Everything has end. Even infinity because,
in actuality, the universe ends,
reports the New Scientist. I can’t run forever,
it has to all end somewhere.
Using google translate, I put the above text through several diferent languages and back to English. I got this:
There is not a night's nights' soft soft
Sensitivity is usually only and give us every day.There are darker things that always run at nightLooking angrily near the eyeI'm afraid to stop driving, very scared afterBlissful ignorant enough not to be blind to deny that I am.An unpleasant place to be if you know exactly where you areI also want to leave.The circumference of a meeting of two absences.
Immune written since the beginning of the long version whine.The second circle around the bulb explosion, not the end,This is the time I want to be my friend againAnd take care of meAnd the appointment of a community hereAnd here.Dreams do not sleep enough to stop the repeatTell me, my cracks in the crustAnd ideas to build up the hoursAnd prevent the movementAmputation of handsNo one will be anyway.
I did, as if he had not heard before, I wroteAnd now I'm intimidated.Ring around not overVisit the hand is over.This is the end. Because even infinite,
Actually ends of the universe,The New Scientist. I can not run forever,Everything has to stop somewhere.
