poems. this is a little poem I wrote for a writing exercise one day. the story it belongs to has long since been forgot, but this poem remains on my hard drive. I only wonder what the story of it is.


It’s a witchhunt, a witchhunt,

Come on down to the sea.

It’s a witchhunt, a witchhunt,

Burn what shadows used to be.


She’s slimy, slithery, 

Never true.

She’ll twist your eyes

To see bright blue.


She’ll play with your heart,

Caress your soul.

She’ll take you alone,

On her little stroll.


You dream she takes you flying

On her nightmare broom of dreams.

She needs you like the blood in her veins

And her magic is all part of your machine.


She’s got you now

Your body, mind, and soul.

But there’s tears in that white gown

And that one awkward mole.


Her magic holds you

keeps your desire aflame.

Yet it all comes crashing down

With each loveless claim.


It’s a witchhunt, a witchhunt,

You’ll never see her cry.

It’s a witchhunt, a witchhunt,

Burn her till she dies.


The love it seems is withering

her spells done cast nearly broke.

You catch her smile

And think you may have provoked-


Yet her haunting smile remains

Too perfect all the same.

Her red lips drip like crimson

And they cackle at your name.


You’ll never see what’s coming,

You never will.


It’s a witchhunt, a witchhunt,

Burn them things away.

It’s a witchhunt, a witchhunt,

Take me back to yesterday.

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