The Hanging Man

By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.
I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.

The nights snapped out of sight like a lizard’s eyelid:
A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.

A vulturous boredom pinned me in this tree.
If he were I, he would do what I did.

The poem is written by Sylvia Plath who committed suicide in 1963. She was awarded with the Pulitzer prize after her death.

For those who get the meaning of the poem, you may also be interested in the cases surrounding Ernest Hemingway’s suicide in 1961.

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