I am in his bed
I am broken
He has broken me
He has broken me like a dumb snowflake
Between his finger and thumb
I am uprooted like tumble-weed
He is no wallflower
I think he is some sort of maggot
He wormed his way inside me
Deep deep inside me
Deep inside my drugged brain
He has split my spine clean open
Now the clock in the hall
Strikes three
Now the chimes fade
Like the bruises on my arm
On my thigh on my silky veins
Chimes are like stampeding horses
Chimes are from hell
Chimes fade happiness
Bastard clock
F-ing clock
The hands
Continue to throttle
Seconds minutes hours
Of my life slipping away
The light from the street lamp
Outside my window
Has broken through the glass
Has crawled across the room
Is occupying the back wall
Like a surly unwelcome presence
I love him I love him not
A car alarm has just gone off
In the next street
We are both beautiful machines
The clock in the hall
Will strike four in fifty nine minutes
Everything will retreat
Everything will collapse into nothingness
My heart has shivers
I feel like a lunar eclipse
I feel like a river of shattered glass
I am almost free
I am still decaying
YOU ARE READING
Sylvia Plath and other friends!
RandomI wrote these fan-fiction poems to explore the love I have for incredible female writers such as Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf, and the way they created great art in spite of mental illnesses. These people really suffered, but still gave so much t...
