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Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Thief
Suicidal
Thieves
Badly
Alone
Death
Wanted
Long
Crawl

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The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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I burn the way money burns.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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I am out of practice at living. You are as brave as a motorcycle.
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I tell it stories now and then and feed it images like honey. I will not speculate today with poems that think they're money.
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
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I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his mouth. The dancers come on from the wings, perfectly mated.
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Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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Please God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone. Don't send death in his fat red suit and his ho-ho baritone.
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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not.
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