I am inhabited by a cry.Nightly it flaps outLooking, with its hooks, for something to loveI am terrified by this dark thingThat sleeps in me;All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Sylvia Plath
I am inhabited by a cry.Nightly it flaps outLooking, with its hooks, for something to loveI am terrified by this dark thingThat sleeps in me;All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.