sometimes, my dear friend, i think i am mad.

i've fallen in love, again. with sylvia plath. her journals and poetry and "the bell jar." I cant stop reading it. she utterly facinates me. To be so fucked up and know exactly how to write about it. If i could bring somebody back, it would be her, just to talk. i bet she'd get me. shes so smart, she found the way out of her labyrinth, even if she killed herself.

buuuut, it sure won't do much to cheer you up. 

I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses

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.)"