Pain sends out long tentacles

And sucks.

When I have given up struggling

He takes me into his arms.

Death envies those asleep in her ...

Extinguished softly in her womb.

The day is so long and white,

A road all dust,

Smooth monotony;

And the night at the end,

A hill to be climbed,

Slowly, laboriously,

While the stars prick our hands

Like thistles.

Death is a child of stone.

The moon ... is a mad woman holding up her dress

So that her white belly shines.

Haughty,

Impregnable,

Ridiculous,

Silent and white as a debauched queen.