you, in the air

please don't point
out my faults
anymore. i have
the list, the one
you left on my
front door
written in red
ink to resemble
blood i suppose.
hopefully not mine.
i'm scared of you
more than just
a little, scared
of your mystical
ways, your long
hair and dark eyes,
and that cat you
carry while you
sweep across
the moonlit
skies, on a broken
broom. i know who
i am, and feel bad
about that, you don't
have to keep
reminding me with
those well aimed
poison darts.