„Have you ever wished for all of it to never have happened?“, I ask my witch as we change our scented candles from summer‘s garden flower to autumn‘s cinnamon, and Layla smiles wickedly sad.
Being broken means laying scattered
as pieces ready to be taken
and be put together
for just another attempt.
I threw my heart out
and I forgot the shock of pain
so focused on the light
I forgot the fear the dark.
I trust you
because I‘m leaking
and I know that you are too.
Please leak onto me
leak it all out to me
and please don‘t ever stop.
The darkness must never win.
„You crying gets closer and closer to oil painting style“, my witch giggles.
Because it turns into tales worth remembering?
Let‘s hope so.
Otherwise, getting up over and over again is fucking exhausting for nothing.
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 