To be a better devil
Good son, to a best son, on the road son
The “pariah” of simplicity we sell son
Half off decently to a width in dimension to a coped, a lost, but not wished for.
Gone son, to be a better devil.
To be a softer more pliable horned helix on a dirt road son.
The sin of the mix drink son
On the onset of the Onsen to do re me sun sit something soft and sold some.
Story taketh mo and fo froyo fo shizz in the mizz of apathetic misery…son.
Battle me you cap in ten in a twist of less miss the le mis ripple off a tin can hand soaping fire hydrants exploding. Steeling and showing with body armor, but a row of ropes I could drive up and off of more than you could ever know.
To be a better devil takes the shoulder cold.
Knees of the apple make a boulder fold.
Find it.
Not a casket but a mothers hold-ing
Bit placard Bacardi but like Doc brown, we all be saying MARTI MARTI MARTI!
MY safety felt like an option, when for when we all could be better devils.
Horns to the ***** and halves to the best of introspections of identity.
You both left me at but a mere age of seven along a highway of sovereignty
Simple soothing sovereign ****** simply
In it intuitive if I imply “to my own death do I abide” and these rulers ****** out the joy and love and life from such a wealthy golden child.
I will never again let you see me smile. It's the choice and an anvil of steel and grate but no fires to we make a claim to stake.
I wanted to be loved.
I wanted to be held and told I was worth it.
Because I was.
I am.
I want to be loved without exception, but exception they have always made.
1. I love you but I love ***** more
2. I love you but you aren’t worth the time or energy or effort
3. I love you but my parents don’t approve
4. I love you but I can’t handle my depression
5. I love you but I’m gay
It was here I drew a perfect line, a post-it note I will carry as no one will ever marry me.
To be a perfect devil.
To be a perfect devil…
…To be a perfect devil…
To my parents and the few I ever loved
