The Witches and the Men

tied to a chair with the machine beside my head, each zap meant to caution my dread

to suppress, to suppress,

to not tell anybody else

the sponge went into the bucket and beside my head.

walking out, i lost color, and never felt anything else.

this was not me, but my friend

the one from my nightmares, who seeks to avenge.

Because she never walked out alive

Shocks that strong don't oblige

and i will find her voice,

through destruction and disorder i will bring color back into her soul

because they follow you,

your bloodline and yourself.

the witches and the men.