Vanilla and death

Vanilla scented horror, when she‘s dying.

What to do, when out of daydreams?
Unable to wish for things, to dream.
When the world has turned into something.
Something that does not require us.
But inside we still exist.

I am barely a person anymore, because I‘ve been vibrating too much on that last frequency, so that no light would ever break itself on my shape.

What to do, when missing something.
Something like a violet sparkle.
And now that it‘s gone, the world has turned gray.
Turned into gray silhouettes,
that now and then remind of something,
and play pictures of the past,
all over empty walls to stare at.

I wish it were deadly enough to kill me instantly, so that I could go to one last party, have one last kiss and then hide deep in the forest to die.

She was a part of us, you know?
A part with a certain sparkle.
A sparkle all over us.
With round eyes and freckles.
A part that needed to be loved,
that flamed up when his hands were close,
his thoughts all over our skin.

Vanilla scented horror, when she‘s dying.

Keeping the connection – About taking the next step

I remember standing on the same field where I spent most of the past unnerving months. Listening to the same three accords throughout a song reminded me of time passing, of the feeling of spending time with people while doing something special together. Studying for an exam, rehearsing a song, going on a trip -…

Of memories and ashes

Once you were thereTwo minutes afterWith coffee and rainI will rememberThe way that we wereThe world has felt whole. Once we were thereIt was a ThursdayWith tea and a smileI will always rememberIt made me forgetThat the world has got holes. I want this to beThe one thingTo hold on toTo fill up the holesWe…

Published by Mistress Witch writes

About the historical horror of living. Drafting my witching novel. Chasing dark, forgotten and haunted tales.

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