How to Vanish

🕯️ By moon’s last wink and candle’s sigh,

Take one deep breath and don’t ask why.

Fetch three crumbs from yesterday’s toast,

And whisper farewell to your corporeal host.

🦴 Spin thrice widdershins (left, dear, not right),

While clutching a feather and squinting at night.

Mutter your name with a hiccup and grin—

(You must sound like you’ve swallowed a violin).

🌬️ Now scatter some salt in a lazy ellipse,

Recite this line with peppermint lips:

“Gone I go, with flair and dash,

Like unpaid tabs or grandma’s stash.”

🐸 Add one frog sneeze (fresh or dried),

A moth’s last laugh (rare, but can be bribed).

Toss in a giggle, a lie, and a pun,

Then hold very still till the spellwork’s done.

🪞 At the stroke of tea-time, blink with intent.

(A squint counts, too—if your energy’s spent.)

You might hear a pop! or a disappointed “hm,”

That’s just the sound of becoming unsome.

🎩 Voilà! You’re gone—well, mostly unseen,

Except by cats and that barista named Jean.

So travel light, speak less, and glide—

A whisper, a rumor, a goosebump ride.