stillborn by slyia plath

“These poems do not live: it’s a sad diagnosis.
They grew their toes and fingers well enough,
Their little foreheads bulged with concentration.
If they missed out on walking about like people
It wasn’t for any lack of mother-love.
O I cannot explain what happened to them!
They are proper in shape and number and every part.
They sit so nicely in the pickling fluid!
They smile and smile and smile at me.
And still the lungs won’t fill and the heart won’t start.

They are not pigs, they are not even fish,
Though they have a piggy and a fishy air -
It would be better if they were alive, and that’s what they were.
But they are dead, and their mother near dead with distraction,
And they stupidly stare and do not speak of her.”

hot like mexico rejoice.

i'm in love with how vibrant this is picture is. the colours work so well.

even her yellow hair!

you go lady gay gay

hello emma

stunning photo of emma watson.

sunday lovin'

i hope everyone has a lovely relaxing sunday!

dear doctor

dear doctor,
i fear i have no clue what i'm after.
the headaches, the nightmares.
the sweats, the aches.
all i do is tremble,
all i do is shake.

i'm aware of the world moving in circles,
and in my head they collide like a car crash.
i know i am ill-fated,
my symptoms out-dated.
but these nuisances are real.

the passing night is faded purple.
i know of no other blanket
so enchanting, so deceiving.
they invite me into death,
with every dream i fight for breath.

rapid movements in my sleep,
my body temperature sizzles.
i feel the words escaping my lips,
the run past my fingertips.
no control
and then i am awake.
so cold
and all i can do is shake.

i am drenched,
my t-shirt sticking to my skin.
i am so cold
and my dream is now old.

you see doctor,
these nightmares consume.
pity,
they chose me.

-11th august 2010