Self Portrait

I cough like Plath,
Languishing in the bed.
& gouge out images
On parchments
With spiked fingers
Looking at the bookshelves
Dead ahead.

I dip myself in ink –
A fool to fame –
Or dreams of it
& lisp in words
For they come so easy

In this idle trade
The muses serve me,
Helping me through
But not really.

Doubt gnaws
At my fervent mind.
Anger festers
In the heart.

There is poison
On my tongue.

This long disease –
This life –
Swollen with puss
Now starts to itch.

I mangle every work.
Like calcifying rocks.

With my mere touch,
Stars turn to white novae,
Shine brilliantly,
& die black holes

I usurp the duties
Of gods.
I kill the colors,
Turn black,
Assume dominance
Over my heart –
The size of a sapphire.
& say to myself repeatedly:
I’ll never write
Thoughts of gold.
In the suburban
Tongue of Plath.

I lay through centuries,
Feeling the candle flame,
Tasting the incense smoke
In the hours of the dead night.

Remember Medusa,
Who couldn’t even
Love herself?

Well, I am the new her.

A glance at me will turn
The beholder to stone.

I have live snakes for hair.
My face is chewed.
My arms flail
Into an angry abyss
Of hateful words
Burning through the brain
In long loneliness.
& I say to myself repeatedly:
I’ll never write
Thoughts of gold.
In the suburban
Tongue of Plath.

Poetry by Bibek
Read 55 times
Written on 2016-12-09 at 10:16

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
This is so great. You have found the appropriate voice for such feelings. It is laced with references contemporary, ancient and oozes modern existential anguish. Bravo.

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
I wasn't finished: You are a shining star from this end!

Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
This is a very good poem although it's very sad. Your words are well picked to describe the mood you are setting. Wow ... I like it. And it's not you!

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This is fine, and a unique approach to a self-portrait. It is pretty hard on yourself: puss, mangle, calcify, lisp, chew, fester, kill, flail. Is that really you?

"I'll never write thoughts of gold" is superb line (though as I said, drop the quotation marks. It's your line).

"Fool to fame," is a good line, too. Reminds me of a Nick Drake song, I think it's "Fruit Tree."

Lawrence Beck
Crap. I was going to respond, but I've turned to stone.

Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
The short lines work. And you've caught something of Plath's relentlessness in the tone of the poem. Well done.