“I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and
seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the
clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surface gaudy of poppies. But
when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and
defenseless that I couldn’t do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill
wasn’t in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb,
but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get
at.”
-Sylvia Plath
No comments:
Post a Comment