The Witch
By Gwyneth Schloer
Her frightful, green face
with warts and boils
and a crooked nose out of place.
Hate, neglect, revenge
surge through her cold heart;
a broken life to avenge.
Lies spill from her lips:
fat, worthless, and dumb;
my confidence she rips.
A drunken rage of
anger, loss, regret,
cause a chaotic rampage.
Swallowed by despair,
I grasp for a hand,
but she won’t ever care.
But in the end
it’s her heart, not mine,
that needs a friend.