Where has magic gone?
Not a person, not a man
My father taught me young, that there were very few men I could trust
That it was better to sit pretty, to smile; this would be a weapon later
But he was right, it was one of the few things he taught me
Through example, through bared teeth laughter despite anger
I think he was the one who showed me how to pray even though this faith didn't quite fit him either
I wish I could remember what God felt like back then
If it made suffering easier
If there was ever a day where I didn't feel like I had my name on a waitlist for hell
I know I never hoped for angels
I've been waiting for the evil witch instead