My finger could rub Yorick's tooth.
thumb it, this gun's hammer. One distorted
reflection: lipstick and wineglass. I think
of life, and then I want flowers, and then
I'd rape the moon. Let's drop them all to death
without fear of a wounding swoon. One ghost-
stricken moment, drained down forever's ear.
Alas, a shaded window, you gave me
no more. My revenge will float to forget you,
forget me and all the poppies' smoke
in one friendless, silent chime. Loveless, red
matters of sex, death, or rhyme. Armed with
so many squiggly words, words, words, and
so much lightness, in this small bed of mine.
-ophelia dans le noir