„What is it even worth?“, the witch repeats my question late at night and knows to giggle into the candle light, as she just escaped one of the pretty portraits on the wall.
The softest fabrics keeping her in shape.
But what is it worth?
To breathe into a chest bound so tight?
What is it worth?
To be in perfect shape,
to cover up the skin, its scars, its secrets?
The witch knows to giggle once more.
She knows a thing that is.
A thing that‘s worth it all along.
A thing you‘d hide under your bed, within your wardrobe.
A thing with the sweetest taste lips would not forget.
A part of skin that felt a touch it never was supposed to know.
„Like a piece of leftover chocolate at the end of the world“, the witch sighs out into the night.
A piece of leftover chocolate at the end of the world!
“You are my piece of leftover chocolate when my world came to an end, boy”, the witch whispers into the distance.
A final spark of appetite.
A burst of hunger!
That‘s what it‘s worth.
The wish to feel the wind,
battle the rain
and play with the flames,
knowing that the other thing
the good thing!
Cannot be far.
That‘s why she once escaped her picture frame.
This yearning is worth to be felt once more.
Late at night, so late, it‘s almost early in the morning, I wonder if I am really ready to call someone my piece of chocolate, and the witch giggles in the back of my head. I better get dressed tomorrow, before she makes me.
Mistress witch writes 