The night sky is only a sort of carbon paperBlueblack with the muchpoked periods of starsLetting in the light peephole after peephole A bonewhite light like death behind all things.

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper
Blueblack with the muchpoked periods of stars
Letting in the light peephole after peephole
A bonewhite light like death behind all things.
Sylvia Plath

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If they substituted the word Lust for Love in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.
- Sylvia Plath
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I felt very still and empty the way the eye of a tornado must feel moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
- Sylvia Plath

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paperBlueblack with the muchpoked periods of starsLetting in the light peephole after peephole A bonewhite light like death behind all things. Sylvia Plath

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper
Blueblack with the muchpoked periods of stars
Letting in the light peephole after peephole
A bonewhite light like death behind all things.
Sylvia Plath