And I eat men like air.
Slant Rhyme:
The big strip tease.   

 Gentlemen, ladies
I do it so it feels like hell.   

 I do it so it feels real.
"Lady Lazarus" has a lot of end stop lines through out the poem. 
Based off the end stop lines and lack of rhyme throughout the poem, I think Sylvia Plath was angry and on the brink of exploding. The poem is written in 3 line stanzas which could symbolize the two times she almost died and the suicide she is contemplating.  

 One year in every ten   

 I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin   

 Bright as a Nazi lampshade,   

 My right foot

 A paperweight,

 My face a featureless, fine   

 Jew linen.

 Peel off the napkin   

 O my enemy.   

 Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?   

 The sour breath

 Will vanish in a day.

 Soon, soon the flesh

 The grave cave ate will be   

 At home on me

 And I a smiling woman.   

 I am only thirty.

 And like the cat I have nine times to die.

 This is Number Three.   

 What a trash

 To annihilate each decade.

 What a million filaments.   

 The peanut-crunching crowd   

 Shoves in to see

 Them unwrap me hand and foot——

The big strip tease.   

 Gentlemen, ladies

 These are my hands   

 My knees.

 I may be skin and bone,

 Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.   

 The first time it happened I was ten.   

 It was an accident.

 The second time I meant

 To last it out and not come back at all.   

 I rocked shut

 As a seashell.

 They had to call and call

 And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

 Dying

 Is an art, like everything else.   

 I do it exceptionally well.

 I do it so it feels like hell.   

 I do it so it feels real.

 I guess you could say I’ve a call.

 It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.

 It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.   

 It’s the theatrical

 Comeback in broad day

 To the same place, the same face, the same brute   

 Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’

That knocks me out.   

 There is a charge

 For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge   

 For the hearing of my heart——

It really goes.

 And there is a charge, a very large charge   

 For a word or a touch   

 Or a bit of blood

 Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.   

 So, so, Herr Doktor.   

 So, Herr Enemy.

 I am your opus,

 I am your valuable,   

 The pure gold baby

 That melts to a shriek.   

 I turn and burn.

 Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

 Ash, ash—

You poke and stir.

 Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,   

 A wedding ring,   

 A gold filling.

 Herr God, Herr Lucifer   

 Beware

 Beware.

 Out of the ash

 I rise with my red hair   

 And I eat men like air."