even if my wings overfill with remorse later,
I really need to leave for my pilgrimage –

angels, stars and janitors wait for me there.

they do not make merry
do not mourn
cannot marry, will never reproduce
my *** soon will be undefined, they say my spirit will too

what do I do with my freewill that you all so envy?
those who are born in prison,
do not know abusing certain privileges –

this is an impudent wastage of luxury.

terribly, now, the unwells too have mastered
celebrating medieval poets,
forsaken sonnets –
and rejoicing in complete despair.