We are Sylvia
Plath stuck our
heads in the
oven
no time for
last words
lost

but lonely in
the warm
desperation
falling in
and
falling
out

disillusioned
so very we
are all
by sexuality
blinded

the advances
hypnotize us
left
right with our
self-importance
feeding bodies with
aggression
ourselves,
harmed only with
regression.
accidents is
just a word
more than cause
and
culpability

in cynicism,
darkness turns to ash

but we know not
nothing.
twisting beautiful
perspective
into tragedy,
perceived as
glorified creativity

ourselves,
reminding us that
replication
does not flatter
in stupidity
that way.