„I‘m waiting for my vanilla scented candle to be replaced by you.“
By all of you.
Your sweat and blood.
Your skin turned red beneath my fingertips.
I want your shape to leave a trace on my existing.
I want to taste, to swallow and inhale your being.
Please stop hiding them and let me bite your lips.
Have my sweet spot.
It’s here for you.
I want to lick your leaking soul.
„It‘s so unfair when cute boys keep hiding behind their mask and die before you squeezed the hell out of them“, my witch giggled into another winter night.
Why I am not a nice girl
I am not your nice, Christian girl next door, as you might have noticed. And this is not a role I play for this blogging project, or to promote my writing and music. This is me, and I stick to it, even when it gets complicated, and believe me: It becomes an issue more often…
Intimate tale
I yearn for those moments,When I existedsolelyin your eyes.When I wasnothingBut an image causingCuriosity.I lived in those momentsWhen you knewNothingAbout the scarsBetween myThighs.Moments that werePure and softAnd kept mySecretWithout anyFalsity.In those momentsI felt loveFor all the thingsYou mustn’tKnow.All the thingsWent looseWithin myHeadAnd found their wayOnto myTongue.I still amThese momentsWhen I hadYouAnd you deniedThe thingsI wanted…
The tale of mental health in a burning world
“Wanna feel better?”, my witch asks me as she presents tonight’s options. Do we want to get drunk and risk a headache? Do we want to try out yoga again although we’ve never managed to take it seriously? Do we want to escape the last traces of reality by watching a sitcom and ignoring the…
Mistress witch writes 
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