No magic in this desert–
that's why she sent me here.
This desert of existence
and its skeletal city wind
has hollowed me of all my power.
Fell asleep and woke up afraid.
There's no question I'm in her world now.
Creatures and places move
and nothing seems real except the noise.
The stench is awful.
The cold is awful.
I'd kill that witch if I wasn't so weak.
And there's always the pain in my middle,
reminding me that I'm here–
that it was unwise
to ever cross the blonde witch.
Curled up in the garbage, I try to sleep,
try to gain just a moment's reprieve–
but, like sharp white fire that hunts me,
her smile and teeth forever come
cutting through the dark.
All I want to do
is offer my apologies,
just ask her–beg her–to let
me be free
of this horrible place,
this loud, hollow place,
but all that comes out
of my rancid mouth
is a sick mewling
whenever I try to speak.
"Alyceland" Copyright © 2014 by D. Wickliff