(a found poem with words from Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath)

i have done it. i manage a miracle —
my skin bright, my face featureless fine linen.
do i terrify? 

nose, eyes, teeth, breath, 
                                 will vanish in a day.
soon, the grave will be home and i, 
                                  like the cat, have nine times to die.

(this is number three.)
unwrap me hand and foot, the big strip tease: 
my hands, my knees, skin and bone.

nevertheless, i am the same as a seashell, 
like sticky pearls. dying is an art. i do it well.

it feels like hell, it feels real, 
i guess you could say it’s theatrical. 
for my heart there is a charge, my magnum opus.

out of the ash i rise like air.