Sylvia Plath

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 any 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 you beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear, from me.

- Sylvia Plath, ‘Soliloquy of the Solipsist’