A Poem by Helena Pantsis

Wiccan wo(man)

It was the sting of the razor against red painted legs,

poltergeist scars burning at the echo of trimmed hairs.

Witch rituals of evening hour;

forward ageing ladies made non-linear at request.

Their hair, their nails, their egos cut to reverse the workings of time

while their red raw flesh stews in cauldrons - she is leftovers (delicious).

Feast your eyes on

fraud laughs, pseudo smiles, mock realities.

It was the sting of his disgust on her black-cat materiality.

Wiccan woman you walk




bloom too much like man.

Helena Pantsis (18) is a student of psychology from Australia who occupies her free time dabbling in the art of writing and mixed media. She has an affinity for darker themes of literature, and has been featured as an artist in the Body Without Organs international online literary journal. More of her work can be found on her Instagram @psychogoly.