Poetry

Fate licks
those arsenic lips
in anticipation
for my liberation
from the regular confines
of a naïve smile.

She awaits to plant
those krypton kisses
on hopeful dreams,
on silent screams,
and boil them
in their own acidic bile.

It thus becomes
worthless to try
futile to even cry
cuz fate will
knock me down again.

So I think I’ll stay
another day
within the borders
of this foolish,
yet sheltering,
naïve smile.