My tongue is a scarlet witch tucked
deep between misanthropic lips. I
beg the hag for an incantation, a
love spell presenting the match that
will burn my faults like tinder.
My offer is gold
Her acceptance is teeth
Each word pronounced deliberately,
vowels rolled out like plush red carpet.
But without the support of bone, my
jaw is shapeless and luckless. Fledgling
flames stutter and collapse.
My cackling tongue caves in on itself
Magic is there, but so is sabotage
You can also find this poem here.