Lately, all I am able to think during long and surreal nights are words my witch might have screamed on one of her many potential death beds, when blood was flooding her and still there were all these memories of moments that never were.
„I want to live
to taste your lips
and sometimes
I want death
to touch my soul
for me
to breathe in deeper.
I want to live
to feel this skin
soft in your hands
to hear this voice
sweet in your ears.
I want to live
to feel this sparkle
one more time
just one more time
it‘s always
one more time
for this hungering hope
outlives a body
and a soul
ripped apart.
„Will there really always be words like this to scream?“, I ask my witch. „Or can we die in peace after all?“
My witch giggles. „Some can, but I feel like we don‘t.“
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 