She contemplated death
as coolly as the opening of
a lotus.
Its light spread on
her mad-locked smile
drained
of his mournful red,
like unfinished smears
of butter on toast.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
She contemplated death
as coolly as the opening of
a lotus.
Its light spread on
her mad-locked smile
drained
of his mournful red,
like unfinished smears
of butter on toast.
Recently watched Sylvia Plath's biopic.
