. . .

rotten

.

in Elysium, in the fields where poppies grow,

i waited for my lover to show.

my sin was that i expected to find her heart

unscathed by the Acheron's wrath.

.

her gaze, no matter the countless times i returned-

her gaze! it rested upon me like a stranger;

yet i delayed my anabasis: how could i mourn my lover?

.

a hopeless situation, Eros would've deemed,

but i answer to no angels nor any power:

mon ire trouvera celui qui t'a mise ici;

qu'Achlys guide mon apostasie.