remember sight saw, soul,that soft summer morninground a turning path, — Charles Baudelaire

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Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul,that soft summer morninground a turning in the path,the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones,its legs in the air like a woman in needburning its wedding poisonslike a fountain with its rhythmic sobs,I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound,but I touch my body in vain to find the wound.I am the vampire of my own heart,one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughterwho can no longer smile.Am I dead?I must be dead.

Charles Baudelaire

Related Authors: Charles Baudelaire

Related Topics: dark-poetry, death, horror, murder, poetry, primal-scene, vampires

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