Unexpected

I feel so happy
that someone should hit me,  
so completely happy  
that someone should hurt me.
 
I drag myself pseudopodically  
into the abyss of the ocean,  
I dedicate myself to omphalopsy,  
to the psychography
of what will never be proven.  
 
I baptize as Nietzsche  
all the worms that emerge  
from the rotten flesh  
that covers the skeleton  
that inhabits my closet.

...............................................................

Happy like Proust,  
the spider that watches me  
from a corner on the ceiling  
of the room.