What was it you saw that scared you?
The untamed witch hair, crooked
as the soul you lost somewhere
five loves ago?

Is it the mirror you saw yourself in?
When you saw the black pools
of her eyes? What you whisper
to yourself at night? What lies?

Is she black hole you throw things at,
realizing too late it boomerangs back
to your own stupid face?

The length of your vanity is the depth
of your sting reading this.

The fat of your malice is the hunger
In honour of your own feast.

If you’re pure, just leave your hat
Black obsidian unscathed.

06/21/2023

Posted on 06/21/2023
Copyright © 2025 Johanna May