Oh, Sylvia

"I desire the things which will destroy me in the end"

~Sylvia Plath

Woman,

You are just one.

But I see a million of us,

In you. So solemn,

I would breathe you if I could,

Even though you make me catch my breath,

With the stillness in your words;

You make the world stop moving,

And the rhythm of my heart changes,

Skipping, skipping and finally returning,

To what people call a regular heartbeat.

But we don’t really know, do we?

My skin crawls,

When I see myself in you,

and then I see a million others, too.

The agony in your words,

Eventual just like death,

Slowly creeping up behind us,

Death is an ugly word;

Let us not utter it,

Bemoan that word, mourn it.

Let us all consume it,

Like it consumes the Sun,

Like it consumed you,

It ate you whole, soul and all

My Sun.

Confessions, you believed in confessions,

You told me your story, Sylvia.

I could swallow you whole,

To keep you from dying,

In me, you shall live.

But you are not mine to keep.

Death came to you, but

Let us not speak of death just yet,

It is an ugly word,

Oh, Sylvia.