I'm no stranger to wounds- that glistens red all over my fingertips and palms whilst holding roses. although, my eyes, they seek something unfamiliar- for a home with extra room that could engulf all that overwhelms me.
during the times I read Plath, I know that she had done 'it' twice, before the last time 'it' lasted. and I, am no lady Lazarus, I adore tulips. and I seek a religion in these poems.