Doubt is like the eternal rocks beneath,
out here flowers are killed by the frost,
they say a ghost is roaming in the heath!
My dear, upon the moors the night is cold,
but it’s hot by your paradise of hearth
where bedtime tales and easy dreams unfold...
it’s me, not you who suffers from the curse!
Nothing washes away the stains of fate,
I’m a witch and you left me here to burn
Somebody in my old room stays up late
With their help tonight I might return.
He bruised my wrists, but would not let me in,
I’m lost both outside and also within.
Fanni Sütő is an enthusiastic young poet/writer who enjoys experimenting with magical realism, urban fantasy and reused fairy tale materials.
Altered detail from painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
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