Sylvia’s Fever

(a musical response to Sylvia Plath’s Fever 103):

You hurt me as the world hurts God.

My skin burns like a hothouse.

Through fevered rooms I trod,

tugging at my blouse.

A fainting orchid, petals flawed -

I just can’t be that meek.

Someone got a fan? Oh my lord,

been feverish all week.

Doesn’t my heat astound you?

How ‘bout my light?

I’ll be a paper lantern for you,

just light me up right.

I’ll be a paper lantern for you,

if you just light me up right.

Infinitely delicate and so expensive,

I’m a virgin in bloom.

All yellow smoke, I feel pensive

flushed in the bedroom.

Doctor says this fever’s intensive;

pink skin radiates.

None of these meds are comprehensive;

my will deteriorates.

Doesn't my heat astound you?

How ‘bout my light?

Doesn’t my heat astound you?

How ‘bout my light?

Darlin’, I’ve flickered all night

in the sin, the sin of this light.

Tongues of hell lap my spine -

please just say you think I’ll be fine.

Doesn’t my heat astound you?

How ‘bout my light?

I’ll be a paper lantern for you,

just light me up right.

I’ll be a paper lantern for you,

if you just light me up right.