I'm a Plath

Sun-skirting no stitches, I'm hurting,
Parting the purse of the city, no-pity,
For god-sake the neighbors are fucking crazy.

The rabbit's adamant chase and flame,
Refine the hurdle,
Find finances and make a line home, idk,
Try to stay out of hell.

I'm a plant,
I walk along as walls warm her,
Well, indifference will warm her,
No meadow, no-spring, then the silence, that's all.

Only two things: all of what you say
And what you really mean.
Cupboard of all I embrace,
As copious came, copious leaves,
Red leaves then December,
I remember everything, the wall,
All in all, it's so gritty, you might faint, fade,
Bare your teeth, fangs.
It's so hard to go into the city
Cause you want to say hello to everybody.
I very gently waived the finite lens,
Less I call myself a liar,
They're all divine, no-less,
I see fire even as I digress...
Every town has the bus,
And who's talking about a fence,
So fine me, I'm finally minding things.
I'm just starting to unwind.
I'm just trying to get by,
I can feel the memory,
Season of my days, and fawn.
I'm stubborn, stubble chin,
Maybe in a month or two
The whole town will be bunkering in.
Again with a 'fine,' do you fashion me late
Or right on time?
I'm applying pressure
And honestly, really,
I feel I could die.

Forever the grey-truth to be our guide.
The better half and I write poems now
While poppies lie wound in the mind,
Sleeping, trying town, I do not try.
I'm not finding any existence, an hour later,
How can I tell you about how spider webs tickle my crown?
I tore into some lobster mushrooms,
Woad fellow, overnight bloom, fuck you,
Crsyanthum purple and relevant grey-blue.
Heron, one leg tucked underneath a wing,
Slain, forever off-white or pithy-grey,
The truth, the whole truth, or anything else.
Lobster mushrooms are parasitic:
A change from before has begun to take place.
Instead I wish I may, I wish I might,
But I don't mind human sight,
I test the line as in,
As usual,
X ppl, y.