ETIENNE
Je te deteste. You"ll make my life
More miserable than it"s now.
Why would you come? I will not strive
To change myself, Etienne. Nohow.
You will embody oddest fear
To poison me from the inside. 
Dis-moi que tu crains de mourir -
You"ll anyway lose your last fight,
When dare to seep into my mind
To search for lifeless crumbs of ruth.
Ma petite mystere is that I"m blind
And irresponsive to the truth. 
You keep on breathing or you"re dead -
I make a difference no more,
Because I"m bruised, I"m meekly mad
And self-suggested to abhor
Each of the features of your face,
Your every thought and every word...
This is my own damned State of Grace,
Your pain inspires me... absurd. 
Je te demande pardon... je t"aime. 
Forget the blasphemy I wrote. 
My well-masked emptiness, dull sham
And harmful fury make me gloat...
Both on my consciouss and my breast
Lots of pus wounds remain. I feel,
That your invasion will be blest,
But please, just stay away, conceal,
Tu dois jurer! Don"t look for me.
Don"t dry my tears throughout the mourn.
"Le Pere Celeste!"... - don"t make a plea:
Let"s wish we both were never born.