Odilon Redon (France, Bordeaux, 1840-1916) · To Edgar Poe (The Eye, Like a Strange Balloon, Mounts toward Infinity) (A Edgar Poe (L'oeil, comme un ballon bizarre se dirige vers l'infini)) LACMA AC1997.14.1.1.jpg · Wikimedia Commons

Jan 2022

Tell m3

you love me,

love me for the things I say,

would you still love me the same,

when to say has nothing remained,

You love me for me, now that me,

is just a construction of my breath,

and of the brain it contains,

the inevitability of time, it will not evade,

The breath slows down till there is none,

and the nerves degenerate,

tell me,

would you still love me the same?

You hate me,

for there is too much I say,

you hate me for what I say,

when I say, why I say, and how I say,

and oh trust me,

I'll run out of all that too,

when there will be no reason,

no season, no treason,

against your command,

against your demands,

what would you hate me for?

would the lovers start hating,

would the haters start loving,

when there is none to my being,

tell me, what'd you feel?