The Solipsist Selfish

I?
I walk alone;
The midnight street
Spins itself from under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out,
Through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon's celestial onion
Hangs high.

I
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look's leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
They die.

I
when in good humor,
Give grass its green
Blazon sky blue, and endow the sun
With gold;
Yet, in my wintriest moods, I hold
Absolute power
To boycott color and forbid any flower
To be.

I
Know you appear
Vivid at my side,
Denying you sprang out of my head,
Claiming you feel
Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,
Though it's quite clear
All your beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,
From me.

Sylvia Plath, "Soliloquy of the Solipsist"

*I'm not feeling any better. In fact, I'm feeling even worse because everything is my fault. My mind's been playing the solipsist. That's it. I'm not sure, but I think my pain hurts you and I hate myself for that. Everything's so confusing that I do the wrong things and can't speak though I want to. I don't want to write, I need to talk to you.

*I can't remember what I dreamt last night, but when I woke up my pillow was on the floor. First time in life.