toy-like existence
A Mask Adorned with Darkness Earns Thunderous Applause
Even if I try to look into its eyes,
Darkness only multiplies.
Using words I barely understand,
They play with me like a toy, each in their own way.
Even the effort to make a replica is spared for someone like me—
Riding freely on low ideals.
I deepen my smile.
I seem to have learned to wear expressions
That resemble the gaze one gives to a loved one.
If things could be handled with mere tricks,
I wouldn’t have made it this far.
Industrial products like me are mass-produced—
Production, overproduction, and recycled reproduction (＝remakes).
I don’t even feel like speaking in irony.
If trial and error only leads to sorrow,
How far toward happiness did the dead youth (＝industrial products, deteriorated ones) ever reach?
For me, grasping happiness
Is like speaking of world peace.
I squint and adapt to the faint twilight
That doesn’t even serve as a distraction.
If that’s the only way to survive,
Then life must be a worthless thing.
Even if it’s something to be cherished by someone,
Nothing enters my eyes,
And my voice reaches no one.
It’s nothing special.
That’s the world.
That’s everything.
