I am alone,
among the crowd.
I hear nothing
twinkling in the buzz.
Yet I cannot enjoy a moment of solitude.
Much haunted,
by that man,
though I slit his throat,
long ago, with a nice little dagger.
But look how alive he is, now.
He struts.
He drives in fury.
He gobbles up the sin of gluttony.
He boasts and embarrasses Falstaff.
On top of all,
he makes love like a serpent,
crawling in the bushes,
hissing.
That's why I kissed him,
on the split tongue,
poisoned, and DIED.
--
我做了一個不願意醒來的夢
是一場很美的夢
我一定是醉了
--
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