Monday, October 19, 2009

Out of the ash, I rise with my red hair, and I eat men like air.



Wow, it feels so good to realize it's not all in my head.  
Yet, it kills me knowing the old you is dead.

But it's easy to forget. It's in the past. 

Update: perhaps it's not that easy.





1 comment:

Jaeve + Things said...

Sylvia Plath. Lady Lazarus. 'Tis one of my most favorite poems ever. I just read it yesterday, by coincidence!