That Old Black Magic by Juleigh Howard-Hobson

You are sorry. I understand. Still, we are faced with that which must be acknowledged.
Real love cannot be broken. So, what we had…was a different thing.

Brick dust. Glass shards. Three rusty needles. A photograph of you. Wrapped in a white handkerchief.
Tied with black ribbon. Buried in front of your house. Certain words whispered. A waning moon.
A starless night. This is all I need.

And from this moment on, your life will not go well. You will never prosper.
Never be happy. Time will not change what I have wrought.

Like love, some spells cannot be broken.

Juleigh Howard-Hobson’s poetry has appeared in Midnight Echo, Bowery Gothic, 34 Orchard, The Dead Lands, Under Her Skin (Black Spot Books) Vastarien: Women’s Horror (Grimscribe Press) and many other places. Her most recent book is Curses, Black Spells and Hexes (Alien Buddha). She lives on the Pacific Northwest Coast. There might be werewolves, there are certainly ghosts… She tweets: @poetforest