Beyond Rappaccini

I told you I was the witch.
I told you I was the wolf.

I cannot dumb it down any more for you.
Society has already made you~
an ignorant cow, stupidly chewing
the cud of media bullshit
in the putrid glow of your television screen.
(Your kind makes me want to scream.)

I would try to elucidate you,
but I have given up the habit of banging my head against society’s walls.


I shall eat with you honey collected from the finest foxgloves and mandragora,
and grown in the garden you seek to Roundup and destroy.
My words always sweet to your kind, but dripping poison
to undermine you.

I shall perfume the air with salvia, wormwood, and myrrh.
My eyes watchful, waiting for you
to dip a drowsy nod & then I shall haunt your dreams
and turn your world inside out.

I shall feel the moist soil on my hands as I dig,
continuing to plant ivy to climb your walls and pull them down.
I will tend the slender willow, smiling when her roots crack open your controlled pipelines
and release the wild waters across your barren landscape.

I shall continue to anoint my skin with hemlock,
belladonna, henbane, and wild rose;
With my touch alone, I shall send you to the wild mountain to dance with the devil
and pull civilization from your shrieking soul.

I am the witch.
I am the wolf.

If you continue to seek my company
I shall, like Beatrice, kill you
so that you are reborn,
fit to keep me company.


Author: Ashtoreth Eldritch

Writer. Witch. Wanderer of wyrd ways...

6 thoughts on “Beyond Rappaccini”

  1. If birth is a bloody, messy affair accompanied by screaming and cursing (usually issued by the one doing the birthing), it makes a lot of sense that rebirth will be the same times so much more. Ouch.

    1. I do recall some swearing and cursing on my part bringing my treasures into the world… absolutely worth it. *Grins*

      But, yes, deconditioning yourself and others to what passes as civil society — long, painful, sometimes bloody, but worth it.

    1. Thank you. It took a while, but I finally got here.

      Part of this was birthed from hanging our with coworkers that have become friends, and one of them asked me what music I listened to to unwind… and it was a lot of Nick Cave & The Sisters of Mercy after that. I realised that that type of music was not something they’d dream to associate with me — even after I commented that what I presented at work was not the complete picture by a long shot. Fortunately for me, they loved my twisted ditties and understood why I chose those songs as stress relief. One day, I’ll introduce them to Diamanda Galás. *evil grin*

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