he is born and I am undone—feel as if I will / never be, was never born. // Two years later I obliterate myself again / having another child … for two years, there’s no me here.
“The certain prospect of death could sweeten every life with a precious and fragrant drop of levity — and now you strange apothecary souls have turned it into an ill-tasting drop of poison that makes the whole of life repulsive.”
Friedrich Nietzche | “The Wanderer and His Shadow”