the witching


I have a secret. And I can’t tell anyone. Not even you. It claws and gnaws and itches at my heart like a demon baby in my belly. Oh, sweet release. I taste the blood in my mouth, smell the bile in the air and I like it.

It’s Dark when I wake before the world. I slice a lemon. Unpack the dishwasher and stroke the dog’s head as I wait for the kettle to boil. I drink the sweet black coffee outside in the fresh morning air. There is a half moon hanging on the horizon, and it reminds me of you. Not full, nor empty. Taking the middle road. Minding your own business. Finding the balance.

Mediocrity killed the cat.

An owl swoops down to sit on my shoulder. Turns its head one eighty and watches you with cold, yellow eyes as you raise your arm to stab me in the back. Over and over again.

It’s not a bad way to go. I’ve had far worse.


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