Devil
Why does this pattern torment me so?
Every year, although its scarcely a year.
Barely a fortnight, since its last occurrence.
Since the false promise was made.
A pattern, this truly is- what else?
The devil comes, and does as he pleases
Tormenting, annihilating. Laughing.
He says that god is something only little boys and little girls believe in
Like one of their beloved fairy tales.
And that it is only him, and nothing more
That the blessed virgin, and her son
Are simply dreams of the highest order.
Or was it a drunken melody?
That he, this devil-
Red with horns, and wings of black
Is not real.
Yet he is my only friend
In a world of simplicity of disgusting pattern
And that I hold his hand
As he feeds on my misery
And I become him
And he becomes me.
And we dance in the flowerbed
Arm in arm, fingers entwined
Like two lovers, on a lovely spring day
And we make love
And we make hate.
He understand me
As much as anyone ever could
And that he is the binds holding my soul to my body, and anchoring mind to flesh
Lying to me, laughing at me
Curling my hair in his little fingers
Creating me in his image
And I refuse.
Don't I? Didn't I?
Or do I ride him like a noble steed
And groom him as such, too.
Taking comfort in his devilish eyes, and his godlike presence.
Imagining, romanticizing his appearance
Although such romance does not exist
He, or it, is not a lovely flower
Smelling of the finest scents
Not the gentlest of cotton
Comforting my flesh with its silk.
But it is the worms of decay.
He, is the worm of decay.
Feeding on my soul, draining it to nothing.
And we walk on the beach
Feeling the gently summer breeze on my forearm
The waves splashing against the sand
Blocking out all other sounds, the yelling, the screaming
And I look into his smiling, red face
And in it I see all the comfort god never gave me
We run towards each other
Two lovers, drunk on poetry, and romantic ideals.
Loving, hating.
Our steps bring us ever closer to death.
And the devils light grasp over my heart
Is welcomed, to end all this world has to offer
But what does this world have to offer?
Take my heart, and with it, my misery
This, my dark lover.