Rotten figs or the bitter one?
Am I killing the tree?
Or trying the new fig?
Iam starving.
My heart craves for my creative outlet,
It refuses to pump life to my mind as I stare dull at my notes,
My blood clumbs when I numbly follow the work ordeal,
But then i cough out my organs,
Because my body refuses my new fig,
Why?
Why must my new figs be so bitter...
My old figs have rotten..
Yet they linger so deep in my blood and soul,
...
Why does eating my new fig make my throat colapse?
It shrinks my lungs and bleeds out my heart...
Must I be stripped of my old self
The one that was full of love and my sweetfigs,
To posses the new bitter one...
Will I shed this skin or tear this sinking soul?
If you're not familiar with Sylvia Plath's fig theory, you might not understand the poem thoroughly...so do check it out.
I request for a feedback.