I do not have wings, a cloak or a pointy hat.
My broom unmagical, only sweeping the floors of my flat.
No crystal ball readings or brewed voodoo potions.
Dont believe in the use of abracadabra lotions.
My bewitchment my smile, casting a spell.
In my eyes the hocuspocus and that's how you fell.
You believed fate arranged for us to meet.
My make-believe has me perfect from my head to my feet.
You feel powerful believing the illusion that Im your catch.
My enchantment of your mind to your sorcery, no match.
© Copyright 2016 Murnit. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
Poem / Romance
Poem / Horror
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