β€œAnd like the sea, I’m constantly changing from calm to hell.”
scenesoundartpast
I am accused. I dream of massacres.
I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them,
Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the
world conceives
Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
Sylvia Plath, Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices (via zelo)
Thursday, 5 years ago
via/source
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