Come and lie with us, the flowers said, you have nothing now. Like us, there is no one to love you and your marriage bed must be the thorn bush, your funeral pyre the dams that will not break
Forget keeping your physique and the limescale in the kettle
You are a leopard in the snow. There is no way you will survive
Everything you planted will turn against you
Soon you’ll forget about hairdressers, and you’ll start to malt like us
And songs will be nothing more than the hum of crickets, the sound of your own fist beating your body
Scallop shells will give birth to you
Family will simply be nature’s surrounding colours
And your lipstick will be a rush of blood
Or else, write until the pen runs out
Angelica Krikler is a student from Essex who is hoping to study English Literature at university next year. She spends her time writing, reading and watching American stand-up. She has previously been published in The Claremont Review, Morphrog, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Y-Magazine and Cake Magazine.
Foxglove Journal 