Baudelairian Mood


I am drinking my blood
In the old private bar
Candies and sugar
Drove me apart
The living and the dead

I need a pipe and a straw
To drink it directly
From the veins
And feel the last drop
As a solid conclusion
A little stone of truth

I pull myself up but it’s not me
Doing the job for a reconstruction
Playing the game to lose my heart
In the everlasting drink
I am now the man with no face

I am made of teeth and hair and smoothie materials
I’m built of chair and bones and a lot crazy stuff
Demanding a relapse a single world to rest
Leaving on the table
The last part of my birth
Like a certificate
In the ashtray

Im drinking my own blood
To the last beat of heart
To the last word I can
Propose as a gesture to my mind
As a last game insane and corrupted by love

Expectations and thoughts
Are heavier that me
And heavier than any tomorrow
I won’t take off I won’t sign my name
Any paper Heaven
Is my last tipsy past
On the table sticky paste

Copenhagen, 29 et 30 mars 2020.

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