PUNK PROSE: WWSylviaPlathDo by Matthew Bowers

What Would Sylvia Plath Do 

Embrace your weirdness. 

Above all else this is your true expression. Harboring harbingers steal knives in the night that mock the very lines of your jugular. There is no balance of peace and emotional irregularity.

Blue vapours pass through lace and ivory, breeding within the very marrow of your bone. If you are as I, escape whilst you can and "blissfully succumb to the whirling blackness that I honestly believe is eternal oblivion".

Deny Deny Deny the owls talons. The false barrage of Baal's lightening transfixed upon your cranium. 

There is no pleasure, even the ghosts of consciousness that hide in the recesses of nocturnal reality release the pain, of the insane the little moments that weigh you down again and again. You're going to drown so... take control. 

Change the deciding narrative with a mask of a jester's intent. Fool the foolish as you are the fool with dissident distraction detachment. 

Kool Kool play by the rules, outward appearances make normal comfortable and secure. Is it too late.... Is it to late

is my fading voice echoing from it's final resting place of my stainless steel sarcophagus.

Bound with words the everlasting mark that I rise from the grave as Lazarus has, to walk this earth forever. In study halls and private libraries even in the aether living online omnipotence, larger than I ever had before, I still can't escape.... life for all it's worth. 

Be your own agent of your own agency. Be true to you and what you need to decide by listening to that still silent voice within... 

You Know the one... From the source, That Source of course , coming in three, thine trinity... You Will find yourself walking among the shadows where others have fallen..... 

Ask your self, if This 

is what you want .... 

To be pull at the final thread 

of your spiritual will 

that tethers you ... 

To the All

--Matthew Bowers