Text

the first three lines taken from sylvia plath's next to last poem, Edge.

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the woman is perfected.
her dead
body wears the smile of accomplishment
sprawled across
the bed
the sheets around her
wrists
caked with
blood
congealed mass
that the
cat is licking
up
lick lick lick
feline contentment
whiskers streaked
with bits of red

from the woman
there is only
silence
her mouth
yawning open
mouth
lined with
blood
what is it
like to take
of yourself
before you
die?
the half tired
eyes peering
out from
underneath
eyelashes
stiff with mascara

you have to
make yourself
look good before
two occasions
before you fuck
and before you
die
hair loose and
falling over
the pillow
thin and brittle

there was nobody
to listen to
her laughter
as the mattress
turned red
and soaked
nobody at all
they are all
thinking of
their own
lives
of their own
deaths

each person has
a snapshot
of their death
in their mind
mouths heavy
with pills
nooses
wrapped delicately
around smooth
necks
the feel of their
stomach in shock
as the ground comes
steadily
closer
the dull splat

in the walls
of her room
silence lies thick
and unhappy
simple minded
woman with the thin
wrists and even
thinner smile
no friends to
extinguish the
loneliness
bloody dreams
and grins
that spoke of
razors

perfect
her body makes
a small hump
underneath the sheets
there is the
light smell of
her perfume
she applied it
at the neck and
at the wrists before
she took that knife
and cut until she
hit bone

the woman is perfected.
her dead
body wears the smile of accomplishment

i want to be her