It’s not my hands that are shaking—it’s my mind.
Cut off my head!
That’s where the pain lies.
Mishima believed sincerity was found in the entrails.
This must be a mistranslation.
I think he meant reality.
Hope is the dark part of morning,
The trees and not the sky behind.
A glimmer without a color.
Most people want justice
But in absence of justice
They will take vengeance.
As if dying was peak existence.
We called it sweet
In the cherry season of history.