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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
Thieves
Badly
Alone
Death
Wanted
Long
Crawl
Thief
Suicidal

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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
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We are all writing God's poem.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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I wonder if the artist ever lives his life--he is so busy recreating it.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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The silence is death. It comes each day with its shock to sit on my shoulder, a white bird, and peck at the black eyes and the vibrating red muscle of my mouth.
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I have been cut in two.
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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
Anne Sexton