The Alchemy of Grief

Where madness becomes a golden, salivating hysteria.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

—   Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song
(via homo-infimus)

“Come in, lammies. I’ll measure you for a suitable rest~ tehe.” 

(Source: littleblackbats)

Come in lammies, we don’t bite. Often.

(Source: fishtard87)