“Isn’t it comforting to know that you can’t fall deeper than that?”, my witch giggles over my shoulder.
“Deeper than what?”
“Than right into the hand of god?” And her wine laughter bursts.
I am a fallen daughter.
And as it is with this kind of falling, there hardly ever seems to be a bottom to reach.
I am a fallen daughter, and I’ll never stop falling.
Mother’s eyes are hiding in many different places.
As soon as those eyes find me, she clings to me.
She wants to hold me, until she discovers the thorns that grew in my skin.
And there I fall again.
Father’s eyes are hiding in all kinds of places.
They play with my curves,
let them spin around,
until they blur,
and a stomach turns all over,
so that they let go again.
I am a fallen daughter.
I learned to let go of light and dark,
and of low and above.
How to breathe with no air,
and spit when I’m dry.
Please let me fall.
For if you catch me now, the next fall will be 1000 times harder.
Just let me fall.
I might reach the bottom after all.
I’ll tell you when I’m there.
Mistress witch writes 