PLEASE READ THESE TERMS:Y Monday, August 30, 2004Y
3:59 am
I cannot resist. Plath's words are so nervewreckingly raw & edgy- This is indeed the stuff I grew up on. She was there for me. Still is. I love her. Idolize her.
Do I want to be her? Be like her? Sometimes yes....I feel I AM her.
Because she writes these things.
Things that embody me. Its me I swear. ME. You hear me?
ITS ME!!
Is that a shudder I feel from within me? From you??
A simple 14 stanza poem that never fails to bring a tear.....
Its depressing......pretty much sums up the mood I'm in most of the time......
No consolation that she wrote this a year before commiting suicide.
Fear, Hear....Will, Kill........is there EVER an end to this madness?
Is it easier to grab a blade & mutilate myself....just to take away the pain-even if it is for awhile?
I'm sick of being on auto-pilot. Fuck Fuck Fuck!
Fuck you all for wanting a piece of me. Fuck you if you're here to judge me. Fuck you if you mock me. I SAID fuck OFF!!
Godddd..........I hafta stop, just stop!
Think...calmness....
Elm
Sylvia Plath
1962
I know the bottom, she says, I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?
Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.
All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,Echoing, echoing.
Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.
I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.
Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.
The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
I let her go. I let her go
Diminshed and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.
I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrevables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches?--
Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.
