Will you let me go? Or have you distilled my essence so completely that, unmarried of your obsession, I must remain empty of myself; stripped of sanity’s constraints?
Am I fated to revisit the conjunction of my undoing, if only to recognise my own signature in your scent, and to taste the smokey flavour of my combustible flesh upon your skin?
Is it I - desirous of an end - who have released my immeasurable craving in order to destroy us both?
‘I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.’
- Sylvia Plath
