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.
we live in the salem of judgment acting as though these are the societal judgment trials acting as though we are perfect and everyone else is either subpar or evil by comparison
we look at people we don't like or don't know and act as though being propelled by a mob
throw our judgment like rocks
douse it in oil and light it up to surround those we deem inherently suspect
string it at first as innocently as christmas popcorn strings growing into a licorice rope and soon it is a rope we unconsciously throw around necks at people with lives and loves and families we always forget they might have
because we're so **** obsessed with ourselves it's like no one else matters or even exists
only us and our lives and loves and families
i'm not blameless but whoever says they are is not
just like the witch trials though our salem tries to end once it gets personal
it never seems to matter who we hurt and judge until it's us
because that's all we care about isn't it? only us
On Proctor’s ledge I made my bed Following the ****** scores Through grey fog, thick as cold death. Screaming gallows want my head... To dance across their blood stained floors. This opaque sky is my one true friend Oh the exquisite view it does afford! Peering down those rotten trap doors.
Puritan villagers spew hate Lighting my ***** feet As this frayed rope keeps me safe. Smooth grey rocks hidden away... By broken sticks and amber leaves. I left them on the ground where they lay Just to preserve this caliginous scene! Eighteen others shall soon agree.
In pressing times truth oft' lies so oppressed And falsehoods rouse to speak in joyed debate That burdens brought to bear upon the breast Might anchor nought but will of one testate
What courage leant upon a graven guest Not thrift of fear in bearing of his fate But silent as all untruths so expressed, Except to cry with cursed tongue, "More weight!"
Giles Corey was executed via "Pressing" during the Salem Witch Trials on September 19th 1692 at the age of 81. He refused to enter any plea against the charges of witchcraft, as was his legal right. Entering a plea meant he could be tried in court and if found guilty, all of his estate would be forfeit to the crown. By not entering a plea his assets could be passed to his children. To prevent people from using this legal loophole, the law allowed a person to be "Pressed". This involved the person being stripped, having a large plank placed upon their chest, and then large rocks piled on top of the plank to slowly crush the chest, until a plea is entered or until death occurs. Giles endured his torture for two days before succumbing, only ever crying out "More weight!" when asked for his plea.