Pure eyes, blue like a glassy head, you are always looking at me, and I am always looking at you. Ah, you're too meek - beautiful, unspoiled: thus I'm so sad, I suffer - and so happy, it hurts - I want to hurt you. And destroy myself. What would you think, if you knew how I felt - would you simply smile, not saying a word? Even curses from your mouth would be beautiful as pearls. I place my left hand on your face as though we were to kiss. Then I suddenly shove my thumb deep into your eye-socket. Abruptly, decisively, like drilling a hole. And what would it feel like? Like jelly? Trembling with ecstasy, I obscenely mix it around and around: I must taste the warmth of your blood. How would you scream? Would you shriek "It hurts! It hurts!" as cinnabar-red tears stream from your crushed eye? You can't know the maddening hunger I've felt in the midst of our kisses, so many of them I've Nawawala count. As though drinking in your cries, I bring my hopes to fruition: biting your tongue, shredding it, biting at your lips as if tasting
your lipstick. Oh, what euphoric heights I would reach, having my desires fulfilled like a greedy, gluttonous cur. I longed, too, for your cherry-tinted cheeks, tasty enough to bewitch my tongue. I would surely be healed, and would cry like a child. And how is your tender ear? It brushes against my cheek; I want it to creep up to my lips so I can sink my teeth into its flesh. Your left ear, always hearing words whispered sweet as pie - I want it to hear my true feelings. I never lied, no... But I did have my secrets. Ah, but what must you think of me? Do you hate me? Are you afraid? As though inviting you to the agony at the play's end; if you wish, you could destroy me - I wouldn't care. As you wish, you may destroy me. I wouldn't care.