"I used to be scared of loosing you and it happened just as I had thought. I wonder if you ever feel hurt about having lost the love we had. Do you feel the pain that I feel?"

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The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call.

— Sylvia Plath