A devil sits on my shoulder and asks,
"Son, why is it that you think you're alive?"
while grinning and brandishing that gold knife.
He flips it, backwards and forth, left and right.
Just waiting for that glint to catch my eye.
"C'mon boy, take it, let's dig for rubies."
My breath hastens, I find myself shaking.
"Go on boy, that's it, let the panic in."
He's drooling now, and he may be *****.
With a quiver I slowly take the blade.
He licks his lips, and looks on with dark bliss.
With the blade a pen I make my way up,
A practiced butcher, I steady my hands.
"I'm proud of you my boy," he softly coos.
and with a sigh I plunge, birthing new scars.
I know not the number, much like the stars.
As my blood cascades down, a tickling stream,
his tongue unravels, he takes a deep drink.
"Yes my son, you weak little *******..."
his thirst content he draws his breath and screams,
"LOOK IN THE ******* MIRROR YOU PILE OF ****
NO ONE COULD EVER LOVE A THING LIKE YOU."
And I tug and tear and my earth shatters,
I rip at my flesh exposing the bone.
I cry for my mother, my father, my wife.
Unanswered my voice echoes off the void.
I look down at the blade and chuck it away,
The blood pools around me, I pray that I drown,
were I lucky, today would be the day.
But alas here I stand, donning my paper crown.
The devil is gone, away with the wind,
all that is left are me and my sins.
