A Life by Sylvia Plath
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man,
complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
honestly, i dont understand why its so hard for people to focus during practice. come on, syf is less than one month away & you guys are still not very serious! i'm going crazy. someone send me to the mental hospital pls.
my sentences are kinda incoherent but heck,shall go squeeze my stressball to vent my anger, if not i think i can box someone up now ):
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