And how many centuries has it been since I’ve been dead and loved you? Sometimes, from her window, she turned her eyes from the gloomy walls, in which she pined life away, on the poor wretches who strayed along the walks, and contemplated the most terrific of ruins — that of a human soul. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder.
Alejandra Pizarnik, Extracting the Stone of Madness