I fall into the same black pit each night
Some call it sleep I call it death
I call it merciful, a reprieve found
At long last, a suicide that does not persist
That does not choke as a bitter rind
The heat ingests me
Starting with my heart
So as to hold the still beating flesh
Between its hollow venomless teeth
And spreading slowly to the extremities.
I lie there fetal on my right side sheltered
By the half moon of a wolfish grin
Eyes unlit but open beneath sealed lashes
I will remain there pale as the final dose of poison
Lungs fueling meditation, thoughts grazing
Palms and thighs, the proximity of sex
Pulse baring down on my spine
Breath stalking the curve of a wounded throat
I will wake as I departed only less fresh
The sun will be too bright for my inarticulate eyes
I will swear to her a day more worthy than the last
But we both know that such a day as I propose
Cannot exist in a world governed by gravity
I will fly off hungry and palatable
Until you, with your unerring aim pluck me
Unwittingly from a sentimental sky
Society why is it that you do not want me?
Is it because I refuse to wear the veil?
Is my face truly so indecent? So abhorrent?
The smile perhaps? Or is it the guttural frown?
Is it because I have no tag in my ear
That you may affix me swiftly to a herd?
I carry a mirror and two glass eyes
The eyes are for me
That I should not be misled by appearance
And the mirror that is for you
That you may see the futility of disguise
My frail bloodless sister with your pagan tears
And the wicker mouth that bows forward
As if a kiss fell between your lips and teeth
Or perhaps a dream wedged into the salivary glands?
Remember always that I loved you
The you that was reserved only for me
The you that crept sometimes under the fence
In full costume to the unmarked pastures beyond
Society swallowed you up in time
Left nothing but that ill-fitting pout
How I shall continue to love those lips
In your absence
I too am absent most days it seems
A false God constructing entire civilizations
Onto the pale measured planes of cocktail napkins
I live in words now, a poor betrayed widow,
I have no use for things
Each night I plunge into a naked darkness
Into the primordial consciousness
Of a rapacious incendiary
Alive in the wake of my newly laid grave
A death of all unnecessary application
A death of persona and pretension
A death of scarcity and scarification
A life more real that any in waking held
I was hoping to find a living poet with a similar style to Sylvia Plath if anyone has any suggestions I would be most grateful. I wrote this poem inspired by her work, I have been listening to audio recordings of her.
Audio Recording of me reading the above poem