I — The Fog

When I was a child, my heart always lived under the curse of the land.

At the abandoned bus stop, 

resigned faces stood beneath dim fluorescent lights.

The town was wrapped in dark mist

and the sulfurous breath of factory chimneys.

People looked like forgotten machine parts, discarded and left behind.

“We are beyond saving.”

Somehow, that thought sat heavily in my heart like lead, 

as if the town itself were whispering it.

The heartbeat faded somewhere deep inside the fog.

The blood had quietly stopped flowing, growing stagnant.

The world dressed itself in dazzling beauty, 

calm and serene, 

overflowing with vivid lies.

From every person, 

a single thread stretched somewhere beyond sight. 

That thread would lift away the existence

that should have been me before I even noticed.

And so I could never feel the warmth of the earth, i

ts strength beneath my feet.

Days moved forward without resistance. 

Smoke poured endlessly from rows of chimneys. 

Cracked concrete, 

and long, flat roads that never seemed to end.

Here, I was the only one who wasn't there

１　- 　 霧

うすら寒い、真夏の時期

街を覆う霧

古びたバス停

無気力な顔は蛍光灯の下に並び

工場から漂う

青白い臭い

心が揺れることはなく

忘れ去られた部品のように

「わたし達は助からない」

その声はずっと、心の底にこびりついている

霧に消えた鼓動

腐りかけた血液

完璧な優しさで、冷たく穏やかに、世界は完成されて

空に伸びる張り詰めた線

わたしをどこか遠いところへ吊り上げて

地面を踏むことができない

淡々と流れる日々

立ち並ぶ煙突

機械的に吐き出される煙

亀裂の走るコンクリート

延々と続いていく、平坦でまっすぐな道

ここには、わたしだけが居ない