The Witch Who’s Black as Pitch

Oh foulest witch, you inspire so much spite.
The way you cast hexes and love spells,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Your spirit takes flight and then rebels.

The hateful bite of a crown of thorns,
Your breezy sway more vexing and macabre.
October, haunted matron of tumultuous storms,
Autumn corrodes like a creaking candelabra.

Death won’t be long for me—better shall I praise.
I ache for your dark eyes, simpering lips, and sultry form.
Brooding over your illustrious lips fills my hellish days.
Those delicate lips, black as pitch, with a pout they warm.

Time away my enchantress, my vile Madonna,
Unholy villainess, my most toxic belladonna.

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