I wish for your glorious garden to wither,
your tree to shudder and  fall in the forest.
Your stars to hang limp upon the heavens,
and your moon to turn to a sulphurous pond!

I wish for your humour to sour in your mouth!
And your thoughts to dwell in incoherent confusion,
your keen logic to become a pile of rubble,
and for happiness to elude you constantly.

The time will come of purest heart breaking in two, But alas will come your impending doom, The chimes of screams will be heard. Upon a bed of lieing earth. Forever forsaken will you ever be with chains of this wretched destiny. Call upon the skies on high. Pray to see another rise. For where thy lack a brain or two, Gods and Devils still come with you.

Written By: Taylor Nichole Hewitt

I built these bricks with magic dust, to keep all evil out. But instead I sealed my fate, for I can't freely move about.

I have these wings so angel soft, that want to stretch and fly. My fear of falling keeps me frustrated, for I wish to touch the sky.

He came to me once like a shining star, so bright I could feel the heat. But circles cast and secrets hidden, lead to my own defeat.

It could've been love, it's so hard to tell as these walls obscure my view. It doesn't stop the constant thought, that what could end this curse was you.

Did you know that there is a world out there,
full of evil, jealousy and sin?

Were you aware that you may be sitting there,
innocently, not harming a soul in the world,
and someone, somewhere, will be wishing the worst for you.

Making spells, sending evil, cursing your very soul,
The person you may think is your closest friend,
Could be your biggest threat.
Wishing the worst for you -
hoping you were dead.

What ever happen to respect and be respected,
Love and be loved in return.
I was once a big believer in these things,
and then I was burnt.

Friendships lost, hearts broken - trust lost.
Now I walk a lonely road,
Trusting no-one,
Understanding nothing.

Not everything is what is seems.

I’m a writer
I **** my own joy to jolt down words
I **** heroes and I see beauty too late
I leave people just as they leave me too.

I’m a writer
I destroy the people I care about, make them leave
as I run and I miss them when their bags are packed.
But their stories still travel my world;
my pages.

So, I think I’m a writer.

I find my muse and I get afraid and
the demons inside of me force me to fill
the pages. And I do it.

Only to realise a muse might
also be someone I care about.

But I push people away.

And I give myself a lonely life;
in which I bleed and sweat for empty
words and empty stories.

**4.04.14

1909, on top of the dragon.
Marigolds whipping a tepid fug in this small room of stringy daylight.
That place where we fell in love. Where I dropped a hot cup of tea on my pants
And we ate sushi on the beach. I love the beach.

I am not ready for the ice festival or your new boyfriend.
He smells like bad disco and old people.
This piano concerto that I play before bed, before awakening,
I have your black dresser drawer in my bedroom,
It glistens of our days of Jasmine and Roses.

My mind blurs stories of you, her, and the other girl.
Rad violin songs, a friend from Argentina has introduced me to
Mystify me, I cannot hear straight or stand still. I have acquired
A gift for shivering. Still I can feel your talons raking up my spine.
*******! Where? Why? How did you do that thing with your mouth?

I count upwards from you and in my peaking hours of misfortune, I
Never come back down to earth's giant centrality of duel existence.
My gut expands into my chest, my nervous system and anxiety is
All of you, a lot of her, and none of the other girl.
I make half inch black markings on the wall, this curse of feeling and not forgetting
That never goes away.

Curses to that boy.
For spoiling you; leaving a dent
For taking your energy
For leaving you spent

How dare he think he could keep you to himself?
For months on end
Until I didn't recognize the beautiful you
You were covered in a cloud of him

Curses for that boy
who cursed you
because why else did your eyes so blue turn a pale grey?
if you were not used?

Cursing myself because I befriended him
so I can see in his eyes the sadness he feels
and he's regretful
but he's not
because he doesn't want that path
the one of guilt so strong
where you're hanging on the edge of the crack
and the only rope is to right your wrong
but you both know
you wouldn't take him back

And there are real curses.
If not, then why did that lady who looks so lovely
have such a tragic story?
Cursed by time for the older mother, soon gone
Cursed by disease as her mother departed -
no match for her cancerous beast.
Cursed by fate.
As she made soup for a queasy sister.
Such a small hint, a short phone-call
And she arrived to greet the deceased.
And she was foredoomed to relent her peace.

Curses to anyone who has wronged!
I should think.
I hate how there are two sides
Because then I remember how I used to love it all
And I'm afraid
of that love resurfacing
And I'm afraid
that I am verging on witch-hood

And I was raised never to curse
Lest I become the devil at its worst