Dead

Conscious crashing overload
At 2 a.m. with the darkness cold
Pressing upon my pulsing veins
Streaming into electronic strains
The Devil smiles, “I’m sorry, my dear,”
Attempts to sway my underlying fears
Broken once with the Devil’s bat
Like a bat out of hell with a winding smack
Three, six, and five all pass by
Back to early morning eyes
A loneliness I cannot fill
As eyes pace along a moonlit window sill
The Devil insists, “I’m sorry, my love,”
Leaves me feeling cut out from above
So with heavy eyes, a flowing sermon
Of stars and cracks and shiny burdens
Of knives and roses and a beast
And a tiny girl fit for a feast
The Devil grins, “I’m sorry, my hunger,”
Leaves me, a tiny girl, to wonder