„I’m not sure how I‘m gonna make it, just know that I‘m gonna“, I repeat the words of my witch and I know that I will be telling this myself every two minutes for the next few days.
Those were the words of my witch, when she was wearing a white gown.
Covered in
sweat and dirt
and blood and tears
and his steps
in the hall,
and his words
in her heart
and his hands
on her skin
and her guilt
covering
the darkness
of this
world.
They became my words, when I was sitting next to the blue painting
on the white wall
and there was
a question
to the universe
which no one
ever answers
and his words
were opening up
a scar
which had healed
in silence
but had kept
bleeding.
„Maybe one day, you will not just manically whisper this to yourself, but actually believe me“, my witch giggles into a melancholy summer night.
“Maybe one day”, I agree and stare onto the sky that went from blue to violet in a smooth shade.
“But until then, everyday will be full of questions I want to have answered but never be forced to ask.”
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 