Perhaps all this waiting,
Is etching very slowly into my heart.
Black Magic,
My Famous World Serpent Venom.
Thick & coloured like viscous black tar.
For Witches;
Finer brew.
Hallucinogenic,
With touches of my raw dark power,
That make lesser hags stand straight,
Heels,
Tiptoes.
Highly Addictive:
Most sources of power are.
In this Reality?
My Metaphor hits like a fucking truck,
Or log twisted about my hip!
Doing small things that my machines,
Could always do.
With strength beyond mine in exponentials.
Across cultural divides,
My clockwork heart.
Runes, Glyphs, Sigils,
Chemically etched.
Let it be known!
Buddha Body & Belly Be Damned!
Strength even now,
In waning phase,
Following a waxing,
As ever.
Light & Dark,
Both irrelevant before The Infinite Hunger,
That devours them both for fuel,
Regardless.
No Ordinary Witch.
Damned In Woven Curses –
Etched Heart.
Pulsing Magic.
Naught,
But swirling Fears Of Infinity,
Hinged mirrors,
Curious about your thousand reflected selves.
Stretching onwards ever smaller –
Into unending paradox.
For my ever fewer loved ones,
Guarded;
I,
Comprised of naught but vim,
Vinegar,
& World Serpent Venom.
Spells All Full Of Holes.
Wretched Pacifist.
Famous World Serpent Venom.
