You claimed to be the devil's incarnation
and pretended your heart was made of stone.
But in the end you were just a lost soul
with a rejected and fragile heart
And a subliminal desire for warmth and ardour
among the sinful and vile,
that haunted your vanquished soul.

On intimate occasions
You told me I was beautiful.
And I couldn't help but wonder,
Was I beautiful like spring, that cultivated flowers within your soul
Or was I beautiful like those girls on TV, that caught your eye?
Or perhaps,
Was I beautiful like an object, that satisfied your lustful desires?

The scars on my soul
are much deeper than
the scars on my arm.

Am I still the angel you're trying to mend?
Or am I the devil you do never want to encounter?
Because let's face it,
We both knew I was just a devil dressed like an angel