„I want to live so much, it makes me want to die“, I tell my witch as we sit on a field covered in dust on the longest evening of the year.
I want
the rain to touch my soul
the lights to burn my thoughts
and dreams to escape into beyond.
I want
to live to taste your lips
like strawberries and cream at night
and a sparkle on our skin.
Sometimes
I want death to touch me
only gentle for a second
so that I will breathe in deeper.
I am a witch.
I close my eyes
and scream on the inside.
But at least I am still screaming.
„That‘s a thing about losing your hold in this world for a moment of Dystopia“, my witch responds. „It might feel so intense, you never want to find something to hold you back again.”
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 