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Page 2
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call. It's easy enough to do it in a cell. It's easy enough to do it and stay put. It's the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: 'A miracle!' That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart-- It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash-- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there-- A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr god, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
I recommend you read all of these articles, because they are able to relate Sylvia Plath's poetry to more worldly meanings, and even taught me some great things. Mad Girl's Love Song: Sylvia Plath & Ted Hughes Go To Page: 1 2
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