You do not do, you do not do / Anymore / Black Shoe
Mood: hug me
.... in which I have lived like a foot / for thirty years, poor and white.
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
et cetera. Short, terrible warning: If you have recently split up with someone, DO NOT, repeat,
DO NOTstart reading poetry.
And if you do, DO NOT, repeat,
DO NOTspend the day reading Petrarchan sonnets.
translated from Sonnet 134:Ack! Shoot me now.
Peace I do not find, and I have no wish to make war; and I fear and hope, and burn and am of ice; and I fly above the heavens and lie on the ground; and I grasp nothing and embrace all the world.
One holds me in a prison which neither opens nor locks, neither keeps me for his own nor unties the bonds; and Love does not kill and does not unchain me, he neither wishes me alive nor frees me from the tangle.
I see without eyes and I have no tongue, and yet I cry out; and I wish to perish and I ask for help; and I hate myself and love another.
I feed on pain, weeping I laugh; equally displeasing to me are death and life. In this state am I, Lady, on account of you.