Angels are unable to handle
these 'Sylvia Plath' sorrows,
hiding their halos -
mute to my concerns.
Love has abandoned me,
left me to decay in an open grave,
where flesh eating insects
devour my motionless corpse.
Yet, I'm a victim of my own demise,
stranded upon sand dunes,
as a martyr for sacrificial offerings
cursing my selfless 'lighthouse' conduct,
guiding lost ships through tormenting storms.
In...
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