The Witch stirs her cauldron, conjuring her life…

She has died and come back six times now, by her own count.

She often ponders why she reawakens after every death.

She hasn’t been in the company of Angels or Demons.

Absolute nothingness abounds while she is dead.

It puzzles her, for she knows the Supernatural exists,

Because she is Supernatural herself.

Why no memories of an afterlife, then?

Does Death enjoy this macabre dance?

Is this His/Her way of flirting?

Well played, Death.

Well played.

Sing me a song, Jonathon

Only words I can hear

Wrap your guitar strings around my heart and squeeze.

Fill my blood with your poetry.

We shall go out tonight, me in blood red

You in coffin black

We will speak our own language,

In a tongue only we know.

Give us this day our daily blood,

As we perform our daily rituals.

Our eyes are lit by the stars and are pools of madness.

Come, let us drown in each other.

Sing me a song, Jonathon

Only words I can hear

Wrap your guitar strings around my heart and squeeze.

Fill my blood with your poetry.

My bones are on fire,

Pain twists it’s way from the inside out.

They Crack and Push outward,

Like a baby desperate to be born.

Muscle, blood, tendon SNAP

Veins gush forth their blood secret.

Blackness, rage, the bones shatter,

And leave ashy dust on the floor