The cold bones

A Season in Hell —

Delirium II: Alchemy of the Word

Formerly, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

One evening, I seated Beauty on my knees — And I found her bitter — And I reviled her.

I took up arms against justice.

I fled. O witches, misery, hatred, it was to you my treasure was entrusted!

I managed to make every human hope vanish from my mind.

I leapt upon every joy, choking it.

I called for the executioners to bite the butts of their guns as they died.

I called for plagues to suffocate me in sand and blood. Misfortune was my god.

I lay in the mud. I dried myself in the crime-stained air.

And I played some fine tricks on madness.

…

Spring brought me the idiotic laugh.

But lately, when I found myself on the verge of my last dissonance,

I dreamed of seeking the key to that old feast,

where perhaps I should have found my appetite again.

Charity is the key.

— This inspiration proves I was dreaming!

The devil held me with his poppy-crowned hands and cried,

“Die with all your appetites, your selfishness, and all your sins!”

I am too rich. But, dear Satan, a truce!

Lend me less anger, and I’ll tear a few ugly pages from my notebook for you.