Witch

the snakes copulate in pits, writhing madness

it’s for me they slither, just a show for a crone, breeding in return for the bleeding.

i’m a crone only in the sense of mental maturation, for the glamour of youth still holds sway over me.

borrowed youth, or maybe you’d call it stolen, but a pretty face is mine to wield in times of necessity. the new age, witchcraft to wicca, the old ways falling to the new trends. i am a remnant of the trials, the burning times, Salem’s sins, sins of fathers, mothers, daughters, and sons…

villages became towns. towns became cities. cities of nesting insects, polluted fog, an overpopulation of flesh and blood producing more flesh and blood. i watch alone, roof of straw, floor of mud, walls timber from long dead trees.

how long can it last? this world they’ve made? this world they’ve profaned and defiled. the soil weeps. the trees droop. the sky becomes a bruise, and soon the rain will drip down red. it’s abuse. it’s cruel, thoughtless abuse.

don’t they see?

why can’t they see?

Next Chapter: Wolf; Chapter 2