my arms and legs like logs of wood, fingers and toes kindling

my skin crackles, my flesh screams, my hair sizzles

yet my mouth remains closed.

like them, i built this prison, this hell, this eternal confinement

the pipes at the ready to broadcast my screams

unlike the men of days past, i knew.

i knew that it was for me.

despite hours, weeks, months in the chamber, my skin remains uncharred

my hair still burns, my clothes remain unsinged

but on the inside i roast, burned alive slowly,

we are the woman trapped in bronze, a new perillos

phalaris, she tells me of my reward.

i have no choice but to get in the bull.

go back to poetry
go back home