it’s coming back again
that same life i fell into
strung and hung on a
thin line of fishnet lies
whispered into my nerves-
the devil is here now

i see it watching me
as i watch myself through
every reflective surface
hazy and pale;
monstrous hills clinging to my bones
i see i see you don’t have to tell me

where are my bones?
do i even have them?
covered by the rolling hills
plump and dense
sinking my soul to sin
maybe maybe i’ll roll;

too weak with greed
a deadly sin am i?
maybe all seven
i’ll let the devil speak to the hills
make them dance off my bones

maybe then if i do well
i’ll see them, the frail,
pale thin bones-
the little devil’s bones.