Sooooo I spent all day reading Nakahara’s poetry and then I got home and spent several more hours taking his poems apart stanza by stanza to, essentially, collage them into five poems that suit the Chuuya in my fic
Truly, hyperfixation at work right there.
I tweaked words here and there to suit my AU better, but most of it is from Nakahara’s poetry
This one, which I haven’t named yet, is Chuuya writing from the perspective of himself if Dazai successfully took his own life
(To be clear, Dazai isn’t going to die in my fic, it’s Chuuya going through the what if of it.)
I.
I’m quietly drinking;
remorse on remorse, and I feel unsettled.
Dark remorse, always lingering remorse.
Filled with stupid laughter, my past
soon became tearful darkness,
soon became deep-rooted fatigue.
My heart always sinking in mourning thoughts.
— Once lost, things never return.
II.
Well then, goodbye, you said,
unusually full of smiles, with something of a brassy glitter,
and then out you went by that door.
Gone at last, that boy,
I wonder what you’re doing now.
Gone at last, that boy,
I wonder if you’ll come back soon.
That smile somehow wasn’t the smile of a living person, you see.
III.
You knew you were going to die?
When you looked at the stars, you said laughing
that the stars would become you, only recently
Only recently, you said of your shoes, ‘these certainly aren’t mine.’
You trusted me completely, confided in me completely,
your heart was the color of an orange;
that tenderness did not overflow,
nor did it cringe away.
I forgot everything I was doing;
that time was the only time I savored.
You remembered trivial things down to the last detail.
Humanity, too,
was in the end just the color of an orange…?
IV.
A summer night’s star, even now
visible far off in the sky, even now.
Despite that, my truly desolate heart,
night after night, alone in an empty room,
thinking thoughtless thoughts, monotonous,
my humble heart’s duet…
Because I am used to this, I can endure;
since this loneliness is distressing, without
knowing, in a way accidentally,
come flowing tears, not the tears of love…
Then, in short, it’s a question of passion.
If I’m angry from the bottom of my heart, let me be angry!
Then my anger,
even before my ultimate aim,
I will never, never neglect it!
Society, as you indulge of gloomy filth;
do not wake me up again!
I now will try to endure solitude,
my arms already seem like useless things.
There’s something about the night sky,
something that makes me feel wretched.
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