You told me you see angels sometimes
and hear them talk. I hope you're ok.

I see the fallen one. In reflections,
Watching me, surfing on glass,
Menacing, gliding across
or astride my path,
hiding in corners (he's got my back).
A soft voice with life's answers at my beckoning ear,
"Through victory my chains are broken".
I figured I would not be missed.
So personal it became
the person split.

I felt this wonderfully sick thrill in my veins
as I became a devilish man; sardonic eyes
brimming with mirth, the eyes of the dammed
that I forged, pupils dilated; content with the way
the wind blows, in pursuit of happiness at every turn;
And they call this evil.