Everywhere I look, for someone never seen. Are my eyelashes
Your hair? That might explain why I blink and stare like this,
How I never stop starting to wonder, why my irises are green.
God is the non-existence of friends. So whoever is my friend
Is God. Get it? Do you understand that if you understand this
There is nothing whatsoever over which to ever make amends?
I love you—that is how perfectly everything works. But who
Wants to believe that? Perfection seems to be surrounded
On all sides by miserable monsters, projecting their sad quirks.
Guess who is the one I cannot think without thinking of? Now
Do you know who you are? I am sorry for only confusing myself
And everyone else further by attempting to talk about love.
How to keep the secret that will not stop talking? I do,
By letting nothing constantly happen, by listening to
The silence saying this is not it, now continue walking.
Someone knows whether it is stranger that you or that I
Exist. All day I hear him-her telling me during a moment
Too long to last, a swift instant too eternal to persist.
This is written for that which listens, banishing all fears. But
It is spoken for another, screamed more quietly for none
Other than the one who becomes present in the blur of tears.