“The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.”–
Sylvia Plath, from “Edge” (via mirroir)
That last line is like cold water on the nape of the neck.
“The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.”–
Sylvia Plath, from “Edge” (via mirroir)
That last line is like cold water on the nape of the neck.
