"I realized there’s so much time i don’t have left,
So it’s a race against the clock.”
I could feel my eyes burning.
I has never spoken so boldly to someone who wouldn’t even look at me with an ounce of sympathy.
He does not look up.
I thought I saw his small eyes flicker,
As if my indignance might have stunned him
For a sliver of a second,
But he quickly looks down
And continues on in their quiet manner. I’m merely a musing
In his dull life,
Humming my thoughts
From depths of my delirium,
Sighs and grand gestures;
A chorus of ups and downs,
But it’s all just an act,
And it’s coming to an end.


If people only could be heard
Against the whirlwind.
Voices locked inside,
Would be let go.
They wouldn’t have to keep holding back what they have been keeping trapped
In dusty corners of convoluted thoughts.
A breath of clarity in a cloud of dust.
Can’t you see, we’re all dying inside?
And the sun doesn’t shine
Through clouds of silence.


My wishes are a ripple in a sea.
I crave words to fill the spaces;
Yearning for something that burns the tip of my tongue,
I’m tossing in turning;
There’s a light outside my window was keeping me awake.
I remembered her words:
“If you have a last wish,
Fallen angels
Will come to your window at night,
And breathe heavenly breath
That suffocates the darkness,
Bringing death upon the misery of the world.”
When I shed tears, these words bring a sense of peace to my weary brain, but it’s never enough.
There are fates so much worse than death.



The warmth of spring
Has started to glow on the edges of me Brightly;
A spring bloom opening to the sun,
But you’re shuddering,
shrouded in darkness,
Huddling for warmth in blankets of snow.
Winter’s harsh and unforgiving
Except for promises from the evergreens.
The “eternal trees”


Sylvia Plath reads Daddy

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You-- 

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not 
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

Thank you so much for the request.
Sometimes I get in bad moods but I’m doing okay and so much better today since I prayed last night. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world right now and before I was feeling so hopeless but now I know everything will be okay.


The girl doesn’t know what to do anymore,
So she just walks around,
Like a ghost;
Waiting for something to rise out of the smoke.
She doesn’t even have a heart for one;
The burning desire faded in her long ago,
And now she is just ashes,
Ashes of ashes.
She waits for someone
In the midst of despair,
But no one ever comes.

Promises are Fleeting

For half formed promises
I let go
In the wind.
Whispers floating in the air,
Be in reach for the grasp
Of spindly fingers.
Among them there must be half hearted saviours,
Blooming guardians,
Who go forth and collect such wanderers,
And I can only hope they’ll cherish their radiance,
And they’ll shine as bright as stars.