rope burns and broom stick rashes
Are the morning reminders
of a Night spent
hiding from Shadows

Whispers are the straws
i weave my baskets with
to fill them with fruits
plucked from the garden of dreams

Illusions taste bitter
so do lips enchanted
to Dance a Waltz
to hearts empty-handed

I cuff my demon witch
to Defy curses hatched in a hollow soul
in darkest times to empty beds
unbidden Rest shall drown lost hopes
to keep my struggling soul afloat

-KH