Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) 
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in:  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)  
God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 
I fancied you’d return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.)  
I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)”

I have just finished reading The Bell Jar from Sylvia Plath. Previously, I have only known her name but I had not attempted to read any of her work. My friend told me that Sylvia Plath was a sad writer, who buried her head inside an oven in attempt of suicide. Knowing that she had gone that way, it makes me sad. Because somehow I can relate to her anxiety and personality. I am a late fan. I do not want to sound pretentious but there is something heartfelt and simple about Sylvia's work that I can relate to. From her simplicity of word and her torn personality, she had this passive-agressive action of showing happiness and sadness. Just like her quote : 

“I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.”

When you see her picture you will see a woman who smiles at you, you wouldn't thought she would never end her life that way. I guess that is what people are. You do not judge a book from its paper. You might not know what is inside everyone's head. I am amazed to see there are so many writers that share similar anxieties. Paolo Coelho described himself as half-introvert and half-extrovert and he had been sent to a mental facility because he wanted pursue a life as a writer, and Bukowski had even more interesting stories. The Bell Jar and other Sylvia's stories and poems have been my obsession to go further, and my confidence raised by an inconvenient mood after absorbing all of it. I would like to say thank you.


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