The Glitch Witch watches life through a cracked lens. Her breasts are heavy with love gone sour. No one knows her real name.

The Glitch Witch runs in and out of headlights, all along the last highway.

The Glitch Witch’s teeth are as white as death.

The Glitch Witch falls from skyscrapers into daydreams. Life is torn. You’re bleeding under your nails.
The Glitch Witch knows all the numbers from loss to profit. She smirks behind the MD’s desk. She’s supremely unhappy.
The Glitch Witch peels words and sucks out their pulp.

The Glitch Witch breaks trains running under the microscope.

Don’t be fooled by all the verbs accumulated by the Glitch Witch; she’s static, floored.

The Glitch Witch drowns in your day-to-day.

The Glitch Witch ends where you begin. The train is late. The mourners share a joke. Cocktails and sarcasm.

The door won’t open. Your hand feels hot. I asked you a question and the Glitch Witch ran pearl claws along the wall.

Excuse me. It’s late. None for the road. A hand fumbling for the switch. Elsewhere, a car starting. The Glitch Witch fucks up your day.

The room is too warm. A little water clears us. The Glitch Witch is nowhere to be seen.

Please don’t ask. My legs ache. The Glitch Witch is lodged beneath my heart. Storm clouds over a placid lake.

The Glitch Witch cannot cross a threshold either way. She’s in the ever between.

The Glitch Witch haunts the borders of perception.

Summoning the Glitch Witch is achieved by fainting during a concert of music by Olga Neuwirth.

The Glitch Witch flicks the switch that tips the kitsch bitches into ditches.

The Glitch Witch is the little blackout you had yesterday when you were sitting in a deckchair, staring at the hissing sea.

The Glitch Witch hangs from your mouth when the words won’t come.

The Glitch Witch appears once in a month of drownings.

During orgasm, the Glitch Witch oscillates between the real world and Hell, faster than a hummingbird’s wings, so fast you barely notice.

The Glitch Witch wears laughter like a jagged mask.

The Glitch Witch is a steel mirage, a bomb swallowing its own explosion, sarcastic laughter, rain on your face.

They demolished the house and found the Glitch Witch making soup.

The Glitch Witch makes shadow puppets, counts the days. Outside, the children are running riot.

The air is gone. My legs ache. The Glitch Witch is whispering under a stone.

Your eyes are marbles. The rats have departed. Sirens, red clouds. The Glitch Witch doesn’t expect to be understood.

Count to five hundred. We all fall down. A knife is a knife is a knife. The Glitch Witch’s patience is inexhaustible.

A cat on a table. Whiff of cordite. The music drummed our heads. Chit chat didn’t help. The Glitch Witch sleeps only on your stairs.

The Glitch Witch’s mouth is a wasps’ nest. She has no need for words.

The Glitch Witch’s fingernails tear the horizon.

—–

Each of these fragments was originally a tweet. I’m currently using some of them as raw materials for a more developed piece. The next time you meet the Glitch Witch, you’ll hear her voice.