Poem: Charles Baudelaire - The Jet of Water*
[Your beautiful eyes are tired, poor lover!
Stay for a long time, without opening them,
In this nonchalant pose where the pleasure.
In the courtyard the jet of water which chatters and is silent neither night nor day,
Gently maintains the ecstasy in which this evening love has plunged me.
The sheaf blooming into a thousand flowers,
Where Phoebe rejoices
Puts her colors,
Falls like a rain of large tears.
So your soul is set on fire
Lightning burning with voluptuousness
Jumps forth, rapid and bold,
Towards the vast enchanted skies.
Then she pours out, dying,
In a flood of sad languor,
/>Which by an invisible slope
Descends to the depths of my heart.
The sheaf blooming in a thousand flowers,
Where rejoiced Phoebe puts its colors,
Falls like rain broad tears.
O you, whom the night makes so beautiful,
How sweet it is for me, leaning towards your breasts,
To listen to the eternal complaint
Who sobs in the pools!
Moon, sonorous water, blessed night,
Trees that shiver around,
Your pure melancholy
Is the mirror of my love.
The sheaf bloomed
In a thousand flowers,
Where Phoebe rejoices
Puts on her colors,
Falls like a rain of large tears. ]
I can hear the phantoms in the walls.
They whisper: "We've got you right where we want you.
We are the ghosts of every time you thought that you were happy .
You had life figured out? Yeah fucking right.
We are the phantoms of your past.
We'll haunt you 'till the day you die.
Your last thoughts will be of how you failed yourself not how you tried."
And now I'm, I'm tired.
My last words:
I'm not a mind reader but I can tell by the silence
Whats going to come right off your tongue.
So spare your precious breath, love, and mock my broken heart.
Just walk away and leave your phantoms here to stay until the day I die.
I've grown tired.
I give up. Dig my grave.
Hell, I welcome the worms to feast.
I give up. Don't save me.
Maybe these ghosts won't follow me.
(I've grown tired.)

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