“You put a spell on me!”
When she was,
His chest was burning.
When she spoke,
He wished for her to sing.
When she moved,
His body yearned to follow.
Wherever she went,
To her home.
Where she would rest,
Would change her clothes,
Would clean her skin.
Or even further,
Into the forest,
Where she would sing.
Would pick up flowers.
Or receive secretly kisses.
She made him do this,
He was sure.
Whenever his steps took him too far,
To places he did not belong,
He was certain of her guilt.
There was evil,
All over her skin,
Her voice,
Her being.
Even in her innocent moments,
When deeply asleep,
Or collecting flowers.
She had put a spell on him!
Why else would heart be racing?
Why would he sweat?
His body burn,
And shudder in sweet agony?
“You put a spell on me”,
He demanded,
Lost in the phantom
She had caused in his soul.
And she would pay,
He would make sure!
Her skin would melt,
Her voice not sing but scream,
Until her being let him go.
“Love gone wrong?”
My witch giggled into her iced coffee, and I wonder how many witches died for a heart that did not understand itself.
Mistress witch writes 