La nuit de mort, me cachent loin.
Chauffé seulement en cuisant la tasse à la vapeur.
Aucuns yeux.
Aucunes lumières.
Aucuns sentiments.
Je suis rempli au point d’éclatement
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Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
mmm
i adore the first line..if my dusty mind translation serves me right.. its the night of death/sorrow, keep me hidden 🙂
i like
Ben likes french.
Apparently, Ben likes confusing readers who, though they may have been to Paris, can only ask for the check. And say thank you.
Translation, si’l vous plait?
Well it was written in French and doesn’t have exactly the same feeling to it but it’s roughly
: Night of death/sorrow, keep me hidden, (Like Sarah said. Well done Sarah)
Heated only by the steaming cup.
No eyes.
No lights.
No feelings.
I am filled to burst.
The slacker returns to life (me).
Merci.
Interesting how you describe emptiness and then say “I am filled to burst,” which, I say with considerable pride, I can now recognize in the last line. …”point” helps. Almost a creepy paradox, but it’s effective.
Thank you.
However, I feel rather the worse for ware so you must bare me out.
I shalln’t post for a bit,
for fear I should break my heart.
Too late.