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1.0k · Oct 2020
My Oldest Friend
Aimee Phelps Oct 2020
A sliver of sun scorching cerebrum
Whispers on the lips of an encephalic cloud
An old friend, whose company I keep
Warning against silhouettes and uncertain peril
Liberation is nigh from a skeletal prison
Beating on my skull and tearing at my muscle
I fear my old friend will return
As a siren, luring me to the bottom of a macabre sea
This is my first poem. I wanted to capture my recent, raw feelings about my mental illnesses in this little poem.
258 · Oct 2020
Witch Blood
Aimee Phelps Oct 2020
Drench the night in suffocating darkness
A new moon hides in the void
Known only by the absence of stars
Protecting souls and releasing dissent
Antagonist to the saintly
A comrade to the pariah
Grounding, banishing, healing
Defense against those who wish to fear
And exile
And hang
I will not be fragmented
For I am the moon
Concealed by darkness
Protected by my kind
July 19, 1692 Susannah Martin was executed. Hanged. I was young when I found out that I have witch blood flowing through my veins. Maybe that’s why I have such an affinity for magick. I do not worship satan, I worship myself. I wear black to protect myself from the negative energies that attack me daily. Witchcraft and magick, at least my practice, surrounds positivity, self-help, and respecting the world around me. I am not evil, I am not a bad influence, I am a witch.
172 · Oct 2020
Springtime Sprite
Aimee Phelps Oct 2020
Your core swells
With your *****
Once occupied
By a decrepit dungeon
Now resides
A blossoming garden
Watered by forgotten tears
Cry no more, flower child
For the person you used to be

— The End —