The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath
Weight: 12.8 oz
Method of Disposal: Donation
This loneliness is heavy. Keep me in the bed, wide awake, heavy. It is searching and unimpressed. I have always loved and clung to my independence with full-on claws, but I just want to fall asleep with someone’s arms around me right now. I want to have that trust that you develop with a person where you do not even have to cry and they know you are falling apart. They know to just be there. The older I get the less I feel I can find that. Each month, I build a new wall. I develop a new personality quirk or reason to distrust. The list of my attractive qualities goes into decline at an alarming rate. I am left with a quiet desperation. A finely tuned pathetic persona.
I have amazing friends, for days, so I can distract myself until it gets late. Wrap myself up in their comfort and compassion, but it is at night, when I am agonizing, that I feel Alone. Or it is this particular night.
Are you claustrophobic?
On Another Note:
At work, if they cut into a dog and find cancer they have to see how far it has spread, where will it spread, and how fast. What is the quality of life? You make a decision before the animal ever wakes up about whether or not to euthanize. What is more humane? What the fuck is humane?