A Life of Nothing

By: Michel Houellebecq

Photo: © Stéphane Duroy

I already felt old shortly after birth;
The others fought, desired, sighed;
In me I felt nothing but a vague longing.
I never had anything like a childhood.
Deep in certain woods, on a carpet of moss,
Disgusting tree trunks survive their foliage;
Around them an atmosphere of mourning forms;
Fungi thrive on his blackened and dirty skin.
I never served anything or anyone;
Pity. You live badly when it is for yourself.
The slightest movement is a problem,
You feel miserable and yet important.
You move vaguely, like a tiny bug.
You are hardly anything anymore, but what a bad time you have!
You carry with you a kind of abyss
Mean and portable, slightly ridiculous.
You stop seeing death as something fatal;
From time to time you laugh; especially at the beginning;
You try in vain to adopt contempt.
Then you accept everything, and death does the rest.