The Fever Of My Body

Please,
Say you hate me,
Tell me you do not love me
So I can spend the whole night crying
While I read the funeral verses
Of poet Augusto dos Anjos.

I like drama,
I need drama,
I breathe the drama,
I am the drama,
Give me drama,
I like to suffer,
If I was born masochist
What can I do?
Please
Do not save your insults against me!
Please do not say you love me,
I need this drama!

Say you think I'm strange,
Abnormal and unbearably dramatic!

Please,
Say I'm ugly and unloved!

Please,
Call me sick, crazy, immature, neurotic,
Poor underdeveloped Latin - American underdeveloped girl!

Please scold me,
For that I do not live
Without at least one drama per day
With right of tears of blood
And syphilitic thoughts in Miami!

My body burns with fever,
Yearning for drama,
Your sufferings and vain prayers.
My convulsed soul
Wishing ecstatic that you tell me
That you prefer other women.

Please,
Do not worry about me,
I do not want a cure!
I want that my illness
To mix with your illness.
I want all the viruses and microorganisms
Deteriorate my organs:
Bladder, kidney, heart,
Stomach,ovaries and lungs!

I feel intensely
The pain and burning
Of cuts of surgeries
That are made in me,
And I wanna to hear the doctor tell me this:
"You'll spend your whole life
On the operating table
Feeling my cold scalpel
Cut your skin tearing their cysts,
And the chill of the anesthetic needle
Being stuck in his dorsal spine. "

I want to be buried alive
And scream feeling
My body dies in agony.

Is there any law in this world
Forbidding me to be happy
Even in the face of suffering?
But even that was a law
I would not obey it, I wanna smile sadly
And weep for joy!
Please,
Read
Each verse of this sick poetry!

Do not worry,
I'm very comfortable
And fully used
To seeing the men that I loved and love
In their pictures with their romantic lovers,
(Oh, their beloved wives!)
I love being tortured
With these hilarious images:
Photo does not mean anything to me!

I crave:
Say you hate me,
Say that you don't love me,
I need this drama!

Say you think I'm strange,
Unbearably dramatic,
Ugly and unloved!
Mix your illness with my illness
To never to there be cure,
I want to feel the painful spasms of this torture;
So I can spend the whole night crying
While I read the funeral verses
Of poet Augusto dos Anjos.