The Witch

Poem By Brad Evans

I'd been dating her for a week
during

the summer, before one of her
friends

took me aside
mentioned that she was into painting and
witchcraft.


Witch or no witch,
I wanted to spend time with her...

after a while,
things began to go a little weird:

sometimes she would paint and then immediately
destroy

the work, putting it all to hungry
flames.


also, her cat liked to vomit in the most annoying
places, usually near me,

it knocked over pot plants on the window-sill with its
paws
whenever it was pissed off.


She told me that her name was Greek for priestess,
and

I believed her.


She was beautiful.

she had short hair, burgundy-coloured,
she had green eyes and wore green dresses,

she had the whitest skin and proportions
I'd never seen on a woman before.

the problem was she knew it
too,

and an attitude came with her knowing
all this.



often we argued about silly things, like vanity and
ego's

and spirituality,

I never believed in her spirituality. I told her that
spirituality

often gave people power over others.


About two weeks into our relationship,

close
to the end,

I grew sick and stayed in her bed.

my throat had inflamed and a fever ran through me.
she said that she'd fix me and began to apply different

coloured rocks around the base of my neck and on my
chest.

I just said to her that some hot water with lemon juice
would probably help cleanse my throat

so, the plain water arrived,

with some more coloured rocks
sitting in the bottom of the mug.

I got my things together and fled,
giving her some time

to play
with her rocks.

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