Toxidermy by Viktor Skelet
The Joyful Corpse by Charles Baudlaire In a rich, heavy soil, infested with snails, I wish to dig my own grave, wide and deep, Where I can at leisure stretch out my old bones And sleep in oblivion like a shark in the wave. I have a hatred for testaments and for tombs; Rather than implore a tear of the world, I'd sooner, while alive, invite the crows To drain the blood from my filthy carcass. O worms! black companions with neither eyes nor ears, See a dead man, joyous and free, approaching you; Wanton philosophers, children of putrescence, Go through my ruin then, without remorse, And tell me if there still remains any torture For this old soulless body, dead among the dead! *Translated by William Aggeler |
Mataro's blood by Ramel Villas
Subsequent topography:
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