These days were not dark.
They also weren‘t light.
They were noise.
Sometimes yellow.
But mostly gray.
And she was not waiting anymore.
But wishing for things, still.
And into the distance that wasn‘t even one,
but rather an empty hole,
she whispered:
„Oh, if the world hadn‘t hurt you!
If only your eyes would sparkle!
And if the world hadn‘t scarred me.
And if only my voice could sing!
But would it even be us?
If our skin was whole,
and our souls untouched
by the nightmare of being alive?
Would it even be us,
without shadows emerging,
and raindrops painting?
I think not.
But while you‘re out there, chasing the nightmare, never forget that I am still here.“
Has he heard?
Against the noise,
and the yellow,
cascading into gray?
And if so,
would he grant himself to understand?
Would he turn around,
and give a kiss
onto those shadow cheeks,
as long as blood still runs through them?
She shakes her head.
The nightmare is reaching out for them once more.
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 