The Witch-Eaters

We’ll be back for your firstborn, first love, and best friend when you’re older and older and tied to your bed with little black zip ties and bags on your head. The witch eaters slept in for many black years – visited places, were casually queer with their grubby green dollars and half pints of beer. At night they would sleep with their worst enemies, tear at their clothes with their sharpened white teeth, relish the thrill of their pray trapped beneath and sting them to death with the anemones that serve as their tongues. They were young but seemed old – always stately and cold, like a large empty ballroom too ornate to hold any lowly events like where witch eaters go. Where do they go? Even nobody knows. But they disappear often and usually show up a little bit later, always on cue. They flit around corners and ask about you with their laser eyes beaming and scheming of plans and they say something clever you don’t understand.

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~ by perfectionatrix on February 20, 2011.

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