Witches Brew

Buzzing, hissing, static.
Crunching up lightning under my toes.
Witches brew lit up.
Tattered.
Old rugs used up in crime scenes.
Police lights. 
Power’s out, silly.
I have this illness.
Gave me senses.
Buzzing, hissing, static.
I have an illness made up of witches brew and power outages.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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