Standing by the window, this witch‘s hair was bound back.
Her favourite blue dress was covered with an overcoat.
Swallowing her shape.
When she was breathing, she was asked not to breathe in too deep.
At least not too much.
By those in terror by her passion.
And when she was singing, sometimes they clapped their hands.
Only to ask her to whisper.
And never risk to be heard.
So it‘s no surprise that one fateful night, she would whisper out of that window and into the darkness, heard by am mysterious stranger:
„Ruin me, Baby.
Please, ruin me.“
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 
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