Have her candles burned down?
Have her matches been used?
But she is still alive?
Has her chocolate been eaten?
Has the paper been wrapped around her fingers?
As sparkling rings?
Have her flowers died?
And the blossoms been collected, cherished and cared for?
She was locked up.
Are there bars before her window?
Painted in gold?
Yes?
Oh, she was locked up with love!
„And he is out, chasing the nightmare“, my witch giggled into her cup of tea as we return from our visit to a castle slightly younger than my witch, and my heart aches.
„Why are the good ones always out there ready to die?“
„Because otherwise, they would not be the good ones“, Layla reminds me.
She was right. And who did my heart think it was for protesting this and wanting someone back who was probably saving the world?
“This shit looks prettier when we suffering in castles”, my witch stated.
Cheers.
It’s prettier to suffer in a castle.
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Confusion is one of the most important aspects of Dystopia. It’s this state of the world that keeps burning into the skin like a nervous flickering – and suddenly you’ve bought frog legs from the weirdo at the end of the road, while your neighbour was hanged for a miscarriage 20 years ago. Let’s name…
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I remember standing on the same field where I spent most of the past unnerving months. Listening to the same three accords throughout a song reminded me of time passing, of the feeling of spending time with people while doing something special together. Studying for an exam, rehearsing a song, going on a trip -…
Of memories and ashes
Once you were thereTwo minutes afterWith coffee and rainI will rememberThe way that we wereThe world has felt whole. Once we were thereIt was a ThursdayWith tea and a smileI will always rememberIt made me forgetThat the world has got holes. I want this to beThe one thingTo hold on toTo fill up the holesWe…
Mistress witch writes 