Stuck in an attic with old, molding floors,
A witch in the corner, no windows, no doors.
The roof just above us, I crawl on all fours.

Her eyes are too wide and her hair is too red.
She says, "One can leave when the other is dead."
The only solution is cleaving her head.

I tear up the floorboards as she crawls up close.
I find flies, a knife, and a Cherokee rose.
I do the sick deed and step back in repose.

Escaped, I walk soberly back to my home.
Avoiding more danger, through green hills I comb.
I crave coffee, music, and more time alone.