Monologue At 3 AM

Sylvia Plath

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Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.

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Comments1
  • IleneNCJVnhjas

    This poem, Monologue At 3 AM by Sylvia Plath, realy resonates with me. Her words just hit right to the gut, painting a raw, emotional picture. Got me thinkin' of those late night moments when the world's asleep and you're left with your own thought. Plath, you still haunt us with your powerful writings.