Beccie White

School: The Mary Erskine School, Edinburgh

The Witching Hour


The witching hour.

Oh the witching hour.

Only two brief hours,

Then rose quartz.

And apple slices,

Laced with arsenic.


Drags her bloated body.

Out of the river bed,

Her four poster bed,

Made of sediment rocks.

Laid to rest by Hamlet,

A goodnight kiss from death himself.


Peels her flattened skin,

Off of the tarmac road.

Aladdin’s carpet,

Only had room for one.


A gaping hole in her throat,

A crystal shoe’s heel,

Sticking out of her heart.

Snow White,

An abandoned happy meal,

Her apple slices laced,

With poison.


Lies dead in the bath,

Wrists slit,

A bottle of sleeping pills,

Clutched in her hand.


Dangles from a tree,

A rope made of hair,

Stole her breath.


Intestines lay splattered,

Her veins erupted,

Her head smashed,

Body full of scratches.

And cigarette burns.


Left pregnant on the streets,

Prince ‘Charming’s’ ring,

Lying on the kitchen table.

Their perfect image,

Shattered like their bones.

The marriage proposal,

From hell.

The real villains,

Wear a painted grin,

Not crooked teeth.

The witching hour,

The two hours,

When they try,

To reclaim their beloved,

From the talons of their,

So called "saviours".


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