The winds of disaster
blow solemn and cold,
sweeping away my heart

From out of the North,  
reclaiming my soul
—in torment to depart

(West Campus: November, 2020)

The weight of the guilt I have
For the things I said about you before you died
Sit on my chest
Press me to death like a Salem witch.
Every time I drink I indulge in my tears
That I have no right to;
All I cared about when you were alive was vengeance for the way
You made me feel,
When I should’ve thanked you for opening my eyes
And I should’ve looked right through you
With open eyes-
And seen that you were dying inside.
I wrote that you were dead to me,
Not intending it quite literally
Not wanting for awhile
I manifested that for you-
I await my witch trial.

I play the fool for something more sinister,

There is no compass arrow or

answers in tarot

or time.