“I’m not ready to sing by myself!”
Between layers of silk,
she disappears.
For the scent of roses,
she is parting her lips.
Whatever escapes,
can’t ever be heard.
As the velvet dances,
she can be seen,
and is ready to sing,
to assure his return.
with eyes so keen.
Until one day,
he does not.
And won’t ever hear
what could be a sigh
and not the innocent way,
but rather the sweet one,
with her voice mixed in,
begging him to stay.
He missed out
on her singing,
the sweetest melody,
lonely by the window
to assure his return.
What if he won’t?
As she stands by the window,
she is ready.
Her dress made of silk,
she is ready for him,
for him walking by.
Through curtains of velvet,
she is ready to sing.
For him to return,
with eyes so keen,
coming back everyday.
Until one day he won’t,
and she is ready to scream.
“I’m not ready to sing by myself”, the witch would whisper.
That’s why we scream.
Mistress witch writes 