"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 Satin'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 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.)"
Plath is one of my favorite poets. It pains me when people I tell people this and they dismiss her as being a "confessional" poet- as if confessional poetry is second rate and therefore so is she. To all of that I say read your so called confessional poets and open your mind a teensy bit. Or not. We don't need you anyway xo