Your strings bury deep, delivering crimson tones. A loud, gravel voice sounding songs of a dead man for the dead man. The Thinker lost to time; the Witch hums on in melancholy.
Author: Chloe Vasquez
The Flower Girl Says Her Prayer
I feel your heart by the way you fall Clasped hands, injected needle, through your call Your eyes of sea, creep into me I reach out and then you flee Beyond where I can reach Toss me, Turn me, Hurt me Burn the world with your embers, sin Turn the knife, key my heart Clasped … Continue reading The Flower Girl Says Her Prayer
Your heart burns for another, the doll waits, loving you, breaking in two. It's cold, dark. Soon, it will be sunrise.
The witch watched the thief from above. She had pocketed a belonging from a traveller asleep in the carriage. They made eye contact, the witch and the thief. The thief, instead of returning the belonging, jumped off from her seat and moved on.
"What do you think of her?" "She's beautiful. A beautiful flame burning blue. And yet, I can only see the destruction, the child causes. All for the purpose of being nice and what may be right? No. Instead, I see the thieves, they steal your fuel and how you allow them."
The bit of his axe stuck out of the side of the tree. He had been clearing the area in attempt to excise the cancer growing. He adjusts his harness and pulls his axe free. Another enchantment by the witch, the woodsman keeps at his task, now with ease.
Run your brain, run your mouth, run your body to the ground. Run, run, run so you do not think. While the pain comes out your fingertips.
Here rings the next bell and another step forwards towards the great beast. The bells sound, roaring a great destruction. Gothic spires decay in the moonlight all while the Witch bleeds. Her eyes wide on the beast.
The young woman wears her emotions outward, while the Witch swallows hers down like the most horrible tonic. The Witch helps where she is able, all while trying to learn the young woman's part. But every time they're swallowed down, glass littering the floor.
Her mouth turned up in a most beautiful smile, eyes of sorrow, plumes of autumn fire framing her face. I recognize her in an instant, wanting to reach out and reconnect. But our connection is so strained, searing with pain. The sorrow we share, make the best. Be well.