Michel Houellebecq. (№ 252365)

As the translation of obscurity
Around me the household items.
Worthless, they become I -
You're not going, and life is broken.
With himself as with the shadow shadow
As a street girl in bed,
I pass night and day
And love you so inappropriately.
Saturday afternoon delirium on foot
In the crowd, scurrying busily
Whispering to yourself about the
That life is broken, life is broken.