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The ceiling's all wrong.
It never looked at me like that before.
No need to be cross, it's only a quarter to four.
Don't be snide with me, I'll go to sleep before long.
Who else has felt that the ceiling's all wrong?

This day feels all wrong.
How'd the Sun come up so fast?
I blinked and here I am, having a blast.
Was it someone, someplace, or maybe some song?
Whatever it was, now this day feels all wrong.

This season's all wrong.
Autumn is the most beautiful time.
But the way it is now, you'd think it's a crime,
to enjoy this weather, you really have to play along.
God, oh please tell me why this season's all wrong.

My life feels so wrong.
This bottle and this table too.
One gives me support, the other, will to push through.
I'm sitting here crying, unable to even carry on.
Why in the Hell does my life feel so wrong?

Your eyes look so right.
You're my Autumn, you beauty.
If I leave here tonight, please, by God, please come follow me cutie.
No wait, scratch that line, now it sounds very wrong.
Sixteen pillboxes empty, I'm done being strong.

This is what happens when your heart is all wrong.
 May 2015 Patricia
Sylvia Plath
Cut
 May 2015 Patricia
Sylvia Plath
Cut
for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to ****

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux ****
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
***** girl,
Thumb stump.
 May 2015 Patricia
Sylvia Plath
Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.
 May 2015 Patricia
Sylvia Plath
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

— The End —