They mock me, the witches
They were to be my salvation,
But I am a varmint to them
Only meant to watch
As they prepare to go out
Speaking the language of social evils
It blots, it contrasts, it's a conspiracy
Like cold criminality gripped as
Iron at their breasts.
What good is rage
Or silted love
When nature
Is not natural to nature?
I am flawed and astounded
At the daisy's humble hailing
Panged it is an honest blackened howl.
It changes me
And my heart wails to the howl of the daisy
Like a soul dying in moonlight.