"Why do you believe in me?"
"Because sometimes, I don't believe in myself. That I'm really helping.
But we all need something to believe in.
And I know that you believe in me.
So I believe in you."

I had a conversation with the devil
off the books; it wasn’t recorded,
the correspondence was something to revel
but it can never be reported.
We sat across from eachother at perfect level
but I still felt small and distorted.
In his presence I was disheveled
but I wasn’t the one who was sordid,
it appears he intended me as a vessel,
viewing it as I had been rewarded.

I had demons on each side
striking a bargain over my shoulder,
the heat in the room magnified;
I started to smoke and smolder.
Then they began to attack my pride
while reminding that I’m getting older.
I couldn’t run nor hide
as their weight began to feel like a boulder.
Their evil grins stretched wide
freezing me in place; my soul grew colder.

The third course had arrived
a pound of flesh disguised as an entree,
and I was very quickly advised 

to be mindful of what I say.
As though I found it deprived
it would be wise not to give that away.
I knew the victim hadn’t survived,
and my stomach turned at the hue of grey.
They asked if I had been baptized
and if I did, how frequently did I pray.

The devil licked his lips
and he whisked his wine,
more aggressive became his sips
as he frequently eyed mine.
Providing helpful quips
like the year, saying it was divine,
and dolling out some tips
one being that it was rude to decline.
He told me that he held all the chips
and that I only had a vine,
and he was determined to have me in his grips
regardless of the strength of my spine.

I finally came to the conclusion
that it was my turn to speak,
but amongst great confusion
I made no sound, not even a squeak.
It had to be part of his illusion,
I refused to feel so weak.
He implanted the delusion
but each word began to leak,
and with each pull and each extrusion
I voiced of the havocs he would wreak.

He asked if he could reply
as he was just misunderstood,
and though I knew it a lie
I told him that he could.
So he began to fake cry;
swore his potential to be good,
while pointing up to the sky
blaming his flaws on childhood.
A story I knew better than to buy
paired with an excuse that I never would.

Now dessert, finally at the brink,
anxiously waiting to get up, away I’ll slink.
He told me not every soul is equal no matter what I think,
and the apple is poison but I should try the drink.
Held up the worlds suffering and made sure I didn’t blink
and said “you can fall deeper even while you sink.”
But the conversation was done, I realized I’d been hoodwinked.
He just grew in size, I was never the one to shrink.

I got up and I rung the bell,
announcing we were done, no need to dwell.
Extending my hand out to meet his cold shell,
I was no longer under anyone’s spell.
He bought my false thanks, as far as I can tell,
and I informed him he should return to his cell.
Meeting his eyes I pushed to wish him well,
I may not believe in Heaven but I have seen Hell.

Its not going to **** you,
Just leave it alone.

"What do you mean, when you say 'angel'?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why do you call me that. What does that word mean to you?"

"You know what it means."

"Sometimes I think I do."

"It means dark thing. Because there's a violence to it. Because it's hard to see. Like looking at the body in the distance- the thing standing between the trees, with only the faint glow of the moon illuminating its face."

"You think angels are dark?"

"I think angels are mysterious. You know they're there, but that's it. You think you know what they are, what they look like, but you're incapable of grasping their image."

"So, what does that look like?"

"It looks like everything. And nothing. Total darkness, blinding light."

"Sounds.. overwhelmingly incomprehensible."

"That's why it looks like different things to different people. A woman, a man, the recurring nightmare from your childhood. Some people think it looks wrong. But to an angel, there is no wrong way to have a body."

"Now why does that sound familiar?"

"I think an angel looks like a sword. Like the terrifying indifference of nature, and the undying, righteous rage of a person with a good heart. All and none, never wrong in their being."

"And this is what you call me?"

"Yes. This is what I call you.
My darling mystery. My dark thing.
My angel."

You write letters with your broken pen
after waking up from a dream
undisturbed, among peonies soaked in water
your feet rest against the sand
that once kissed the moon
and the stars write back to you
transcripts of our conversations,
like fragrance, they leave a trail in the wind
and we remember them
on those odd nights of wakeful dreaming

2am talking to you...
The hum of a neon sign, Emitting light so tranquil
Purple Luminescence on your face. The sparkle in your eye, it brings life to all...
The smile in your words     In comparison everything so small.    

In conversation vocalising the deep within

What can I say, 2am there is no filter Here.

The euphoria so intense
all Existence has so much Distance,
the world fades away...

Quizzed with the words you speak
Everything begins to dull
Everything so quiet and clear

The realisation of how much I hold you dear
I'd hate to think what I'd do  
Without you here