asphyx-iating

Elle Dance Elle marche Lentement Légèrement Dans l’herbe Si doux, si doux Elle sent Une tristesse Un abandonnement Si fort, si fort Mais quand même Elle lève ses bras Se débarrasse Et dance, et dance Silencieuse Dans la nuit Qui l’enveloppe Si gentiment, si gentiment Sans souci Mais sans oublier Ses larmes En tombe, en tombe Et puis elle chante Si mélodieuse Et émouvant Contente, content Avec les étoiles Qui l’accompagne Et la lune qui l’encourage Et Puis Elle Passe Silencieuse Dans L’obscurité.

When I cry I cry not because I am sad I cry because the sorrows of the world have weighted me down When I laugh I laugh not out of joy But so as to conceal my true feelings When I talk I do not talk so as to entertain you But so I don’t go crazy from the silence When I hurt I do not choose to hurt so as to feel pain But so as to know that I can feel anything When I scream I do not scream out of anger, or fear, or frustration I scream so as to leave a mark So my life will not be lost Unremembered Insignificant Nothing

I. If this were a cliché, A poem, or both It would be about sparkling midnight skies and heartbeats and flowers and sex. There would be oceanic eyes and rain that tastes like tears. We’ll throw in anxiety-riddled murmurs and metaphorical bullets and allusions to sharp objects for pity. This is not a cliché anymore. So instead I wrote about the flavor of emerald and the fragrance of April hope. I painted pictures of a perfect pencil, poised over a blank page. II. If this were a romance, A message in a bottle, or both It would still be cliché, to capture electric fingers and longings locked away with skeleton keys