The little bubbles well up inside.

I will not be kind.

I will murder you with my words.

I will slice you open with my phantom claws which grow and dig into flesh at my behest.

I will kill you. Figuratively.

It’s so satisfying to make you confused and irked and to make you stumble over your words.

You don’t have the passion to see you through this mental joust. I will skewer you over hot coals, and you will roast.

The flames will lap at your flesh...tanning it...turning it crisp.

I’ll season you with my salty attitude towards your infarction.

You’ll pay, and I’ll relish your death.

Here in the garden of bones, I find you. You...the only one who is a witness to my suffering. Take my hand. Embrace me with your cold, dead arms; and I’ll catch your tears as you hold me safe against your unbeating heart.

In this secret yard of ash, we are pinned to one another by anguish. In our twin rage, we share a moment of quietude. Together... our souls sigh.

Through crystal mist

My mind captures you.

Your expanse

Covers a night sky

Twinkling with bits

Of laughter

Through tears.

My body longs

To be near you,

And I ache

With every breath

We don’t share.

My body quakes

When I imagine

You’re close.

I can’t wait

To laugh with you

And hug you

From behind.

...I weep inside

because I can’t feel you near.

And I dream of the day

When I can call your name.

You’re a parasite.

My skin crawls when you’re near me;

Like thousands of electrical flight signals urging my limbs to run,

But that would be rude.

I don’t want to be rude;

Mama taught me better than that.

So I inch away from you,

Begging the gods that you care

Enough to catch a hint.

The hint that I don’t want

To be around you.

I don’t want to talk with you;

I can’t stand your jokes;

And your neediness

Disgusts me.

You’re a parasite.

I wish someone would have mercy

And squish you.

When it’s to slay or be slain,

I’ll pick slain every time.

What good is a heart

That’s never broken?

Your steps send lightning

across my skin.

I’d give my back teeth

To hear your voice.

And my bones are precious to me.

They turn into vapor

Whenever you enter the same room as me;

And nothing

Not a thing

Can change the blatant

Expression of yearn

On my face

For you.

“But you could barely stand in her presence!” Sirena pleaded. We were on the roof of her tiny house; I was “helping” her trim herbs for her tinctures.

“That’s the beauty of it, Sirena!” She scoffed as I spoke. “Just think what it’ll be like if I woo her!”

“Woo.” She mocked.

“Yes; woo. Most witches aren’t immune to this oozing geyser of charm.” I gestured over my body enthusiastically. “Just because you have other priorities...”

“Like being straight??” She side-eyed me accusingly...yet with a loving, sisterly tone.

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe. I never let technicalities get in my way.”

“Is she gay?”

I shrunk a little. “You know I don’t know.”

“Do you need me to stalk her for you?” Sirena held back her giggling.

I jumped at the idea. “Would you? Oh my goddess—I would be in your debt! Please...”

“You have to realize I’m not serious, right?” She pointed out.

“But Sirena! I have to know where I stand!!!”

She sighed as she snipped the feverfew. “Well what else did she say?”

I stretched my arms above my head in relief that Sirena was finally working with me on this. “Just that people who see the spirits of elders are usually shamans of some sort.” I snorted. “...and that I perhaps had missed my calling.”

“Maybe you’re a sexual healer...” Sirena reckoned.

I gave her a broad grin. “That would rock.” Sirena wasn’t amused; she gave me a good eyeballing.

“Is that all?” She asked.

“Yeah...but the way she touched my hand! Geezus; Sirena. I’m done for!”

“Well I guess there’s hope yet. You said she approached you?”

“Yeah!” I exclaimed excitedly.

“Maybe she’s interested, but given what she talked to you about, it could be purely academic.”

“No!!!!!!!” But then I started; “hey...I can work with that.”

“Of course you can. Help me get these herbs down and inside.”

“Yes ma’am!” My life force was renewed. We got the herbs down safely and I watched Sirena begin brewing them for healing potions.

Our kinds don’t usually mix. I saw her at the pagan festival. I didn’t want to get caught staring, but she was looking at me too.

I could feel her power; I’m a little addicted (some would say I collect powerful witches)—it was like nothing I’d sensed before.

Then she approached me.

She wanted to read my palm, she said. I asked her why; she told me she had a hunch about me, and wanted to see if it was on point.

I yielded up my hand, and when she touched me.... I had to hide as best I could the tremors quaking through my body. This was no ordinary witch.

“I was right.” She teased.

I gave her an eager, expectant look. She paused long enough for me to really doubt that she was being honest in saying she knew anything; but I was still trembling, so I waited on edge.

“Does she visit you often?” She queried.

We both knew who she was talking about, there was no need to feign ignorance. “They’re always here.”

“Keep them close,” she instructed; “they are your shield against the dark.”

Cutting, shadowed memories came into focus. “I know.”