Sylvia Plath's Poppies

Image painting a sky of gray

Bright poppies dancing in my head 

Sylvia Plath inspires 

Dreaming of what she would say

Suicidal thoughts claim her head

Indie Goth Girl desire 

Poppies deadly, like I'm in OZ

Sleep Dorothy, like your dead

lay her to rest, she tires 

Sylvia, why did you die? 

Dorothy woke up from the spell

Bake your cake in the oven

Metal gas racks, there she lies 

Welcome to our personal Hell

Orange poppies at eleven 

R.I.P. Sylvia Plath