The devil resides on a fence post,
covered in honeysuckle and black berry vines
Across the dirt road in front of my house
He squats there,
atop that post
With his beautiful grin and blue eyes
He has demples when he smiles,
and hair the colour of hay
His voice,
is that of silken sin
Offering up a drunkenness that the finest of whiskys can't give
He drowns me in satin,
posing promises never kept
He bruises peaches,
and feeds on flames
Beckoning my flesh,
with the sharpest of silver blades~A
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
The devil resides on a fence post,
covered in honeysuckle and black berry vines
Across the dirt road in front of my house
He squats there,
atop that post
With his beautiful grin and blue eyes
He has demples when he smiles,
and hair the colour of hay
His voice,
is that of silken sin
Offering up a drunkenness that the finest of whiskys can't give
He drowns me in satin,
posing promises never kept
He bruises peaches,
and feeds on flames
Beckoning my flesh,
with the sharpest of silver blades~A
I speak of this hell of addiction. It seems I've sold my soul to it. But we all have our vices.
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