A poem that conforms to the style of Sylvia Plath (meant in context of her husband's infidelity) It has already been decided a thousand years before that I was never meant to last longer than the passing of seasons nor longer than the time it takes for a wretch like you to steal and swallow all. All those pills. All those words. All that scratched up skin. Let me retaliate and steal your teeth those molars, canines and gnashing insiscors So I can grind them down one by one into snowy ash and throw it all off of rooftops followed by the hooked feathers you plucked one by one from my torn back that way, your little lies could no longer form little candied whispers that drip off the earlobes of simpering girls and run like blood down their necks and I will leave only my feathers to laugh at your dust since in its finality, I will crawl to my resting place.