What makes a person, Layla?
Is it two arms and legs,
and eyes to see,
and a voice to speak with,
and blood to spill?
Maybe, he saw me as a person.
He did not see
that all I ever did was vibrating
on that very last frequency
that was left by better days.
He saw me as one,
but I think I‘m not a person anymore.
He saw me as a person,
when he touched those
arms and hands
and lips and breasts
and never realized that there was blood to spill.
Maybe,
I have been breaking myself into 100 unheard frequencies
and through those veins
in arms and legs
and lips and breasts
runs blood burned up
by just another witching dream.
There was another one
that saw the flames
and felt them
running in this blood
and touched those
arms and hands
and lips and breasts
and knew.
„Maybe, I‘m a witch“, I say.
Layla nods. „I wanted a world in which I could have been his witch“, she says, as she attempts to cook a violet cloud.
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