Sensory Overload

What does she know? I never should have cried. Never.

The Wait

All of it might be a blur. Might be.

The Word/Wordy/Worthy One

He comes crawling at night
Like a scheming serpent tendering the glistening apple.


A whisper.

Eat it, savor it, die from it.


He roasts, boils, grills it.
He bakes it with a cherry.
He feeds me with it.
He can slice it and bit by bit, put it in my mouth.
He lets me chew, swallow and choke from it.

I always hunger and hunger for another recipe, a new drown.

On Hiatus

The Witch is.

For now.

So many good things happening.

Maybe.