Tears run down my face like the paint of a warrior
You look at me lying there – Freud analysing his patient
Meanwhile there is a serpent’s bite inside of me
The venom slowly fills up my lungs
But Cleopatra died not for her man, but for her country
There is empty air between our lips where a kiss once broke the silence
These pages are bound to make wings
I pray they’ll find me as soon as the orange flames do
For we can only hope for transformation
And I hope to rise as a phoenix
Not a flame.


© Angelica Krikler