L'Heautontimoroumenos (1857) (Self-Tormentor) - Diamanda Galas

No rage, no rancor: I shall beat you

As butchers fell an ox

As Moses smote the rock in Horeb—

I shall make you weep

And by the waters of affliction

My desert will be slaked

My desire, that hope has made monstrous

Will frolic in your tears

As a ship tosses on the ocean—

In my besotted heart

Your adorable sobs will echo

Like an ecstatic drum

For I—am I not a dissonance

In the divine accord

Because of the greedy Irony

Which infiltrates my soul?

I hear it in my voice—that shrillness

That poison in my blood!

I am the sinister glass in which

The Fury sees herself!

I am the knife and the wound it deals

I am the slap and the cheek

I am the wheel and the broken limbs

Hangman and victim both!

I am the vampire at my own veins

One of the great lost horde

Doomed for the rest of my time, and beyond

«To laugh—and smile no more»