Reverie
In reverie, I realize I am dying.
I realize they treat me like I’m sick.
That they see me as condemned,
and there’s a sorrowful aura hanging over my ugly body.
Gazes lament my imperfections.
The mirror, ashamed, hesitates to reflect me.
My body shows signs of no longer wanting to exist.
And I am dying.
I hear music torment my frail ears.
I see others dancing with staggering joy
while I reduce myself to the dance of a funeral rhythm,
marching, ill-fated, toward my coffin’s end.
They paint my portrait in blood-red hues,
they crush my hopes with perverse precision,
turning the painting of my life
into the brutal scene of a crime of vengeance.
I am dying, but I didn’t want to die.
I am yearning, though I shouldn’t yearn.
I am crying, when I should be dying.
Even more now, on the brink of sleep.
Little will be worth all that I still desire.
Little will be worth all that I have lost.
Hope is of no use to me
if, like a child’s dream,
it is taken away from me.
Mother, this bed is so cold,
it echoes my breath in such a sinister tone
and declares that my companions
will be worms and parasites.
Lie with me, mother.
Don’t leave me crying alone.
I am dying, but I am afraid.
Afraid to realize I could have lived,
and that now it’s too late.
That I didn’t die
but killed myself.
Lie with me, my friend,
my beloved death.
Ignore the grey flesh that sustains me
and warm me with your sweet kiss.
Make me sleep — but sleep beside me.
I lived so alone, death.
I tried so hard to love.
But my love is worse than your coming.
I flirted with souls so beautiful
that they wished for you more than for me.
So I now flirt with you, and beg:
seduce me and take me to nothingness.
Or wait for me — I’ll come to meet you,
dragging these frail legs
that can bear neither the weight of my tears
nor the weight of my pain.
Enter, close the door, my love.
Ignore this caricature of defeat,
this fool without reason.
Just behold your greatest work.
Free me, death.
I’m ready to go.
Do, by your means,
the most beautiful act the world has ever seen.
And the door closes.
But not even you, death,
lay down with me.