inspired by Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath
sylvia's seen things unearthly, unwordly
the whole town shaking
and i like to think i know her; her pain,
her animalistic tendencies,
the way she twists and tumbles her miserable words
into a creation of beauty, of horror.
she knows me.
i see it in the way she lived.
in the manner of her dying.
nine times like a cat, she says; and i know her fear.
her ultimate despair. how we both wished the days away, to see no product until the very end. the rebirth, the renaissance. and i die exceptionally well , just like her.
the crowd loud with amusement, flocking like crows.
waiting to see the unfolding of my history,
my heart, my rib, the big striptease.
i eat the very thing that will kill me in the end
the curtain will pull
and all that will be left is my anxiety rooted in my chest.
is death an extreme sacrifice,
or is it just a redundant end to today?
"i rise with my red hair
and i eat men like air"
and it is such a pretty way to describe my destruction
the killing thing
she knows what it's like to be something cruel, someone tempting. slyvia, are you listening? or just drowning yourself in your poetry? drowning yourself in a drink,
a pill,
a man that will only murder your mind and
your memories
