𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒈

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 (𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆) Plath and her fig tree Pruned in the dead of night. Purple figs, squashed at our feet. Falling and plummeting to the depths of the abyss. If I see within those eyes, will I move? Would I have let those figs descent. See me as the crowd observed I am neither that nor who they think Hide my existence from the heights of my home Their reckoning — too callous My existence — tooo cruel Purple figs, squashed at our feet. The figs that lie within their eyes I see none of it, not one Will they allow me to find the peace on the stump? If I descent will I die remembered Will you taxidermy my words Will my body be with the ground where I may rest Let that what people may remember The brightly star among the night Hide the blackhole which consumed my light I know nothing where Plath's body may Lie But my soul would find her words Without a map or a compass My soul will seek her words when I die :credits to Alex who inspired me to write this