The fault is mine but,
The problem is you
Everything you've done
Says I'm unimportant
Everything you've said
Makes me wish we never met
I'll fake it for you
Lately I have conversations with the devil in pants
She was beauty , *** on a stand
She had gold in her hands
Blood in her eyes
She would make me a tempting offer
You can have all that is mine
I turned down her offer
Walked away a quarter to nine.
Lately I have conversations with the devil in pants.
She invited me for dinner
I did suit up on time
A little over dressed, roses in my hands.
I sat at a corner , took up a carving knife
Of course I couldn't trust her
A grin on her face when she poured me a glass.
Now me and the devil had a dance
Each time I try to leave my body held me back.
Tic tock the clock would tick.
I was supposed to leave.
Looked up, clock would read a quarter past nine.
Now I look at the mirror
I see gold in my hands
Blood in my eyes.
I am the devil in pants......kazer 2018
We are that which we criticise , look inwards and see that in the same situation you may have done worse.... the devil in pants. Sometimes we are the DEVIL in our very pants.
Your smile is free
But never undervalued
2 liner entry for Day 5. Write anything about what you think is important or undervalued.
From the darkness of a midnight corner
a sudden gleam - light on a shiny surface
wet where everything is always dry a
lump of something darker than the night
huddles in a heap against the plaster
broken by the jackboot toes of time
rushing through to other places
There is no definition to the shape
that quivers but does not ever move
or shift the silent air with breathing
From the corner where no light invades
the shadow of a recent battle
hides the echoes of the last defeat
and muffles cries for help to come
and blends itself into the blackness
that’s both transparent and opaque
presenting as a silly fun house mirror
changing all perceptions of reality
In the murky gloom that dominates the corner
keeping time to music no one hears
the marks left by the whip are hard to see and
seeping red drops fake the look of ink
The half closed eye is leaking little rainbows
made from seven shades of ebony
that fall and ****** on the carbon floor
as the clump of misery refolds itself
in ever smaller, tighter packets tied with screams
that ricochet into the vastness of forever.
No White Knight or Unicorn
will ever find the corner
The spotlight of humanity
sports a burned out bulb
The gentle hand of kindness
is rolled into a fist and stuffed
into a pocket of uncaring.
The corner was
The corner is
The corner ever
more will be
Things have not gone well at work lately.
— The End —