Once the witch was placed next to the window nailed shut, he would enter the room and ask her to relief the world from her voice too sweet.
„But I haven‘t even said anything“, she would whisper.
„So you will never know the blessing of silence“, he would respond.
Once her hands were in chains and bound behind her back, he would sit next to her and ask her to stop bleeding.
„But you cut through my skin“, she reminded him.
„And you are unable to heal“, he stated.
Once she was resting on hay and on mold, he would look right into those infectious witching eyes and ask her to confess.
„But I haven‘t done a thing“, she would say.
„Not one single thing?“
„Not one thing.“
„So you will never know the joy of forgiveness“, he judged.
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 