Comments 4


but she’ll still blame the devil inside of me
and i wish i could simply tell her i don’t have an excuse
because i’ll happily own up to what i’ve destroyed
if only for the reason “maybe i like blood on my hands”
the warmth it brings when i feel nothing inside
but she’ll say “i know the real you”
so i’ll pretend i’m still alive and
pain isn’t a wondrous expectation
in order to follow through with the three simple words “i love you”
and she says she prays for me
and i’m not sure what for
because surely the devil doesn’t listen to a saint like her
but i’ll cry just to prove i’m human enough
for evils i have yet to meet but would happily urge myself to keep
and i watch her as she lies there in the morning
with a peaceful expression until her eyes open softly
and i wonder how long until she devastatingly realizes
that the person she reaches over to kiss eagerly with both hands
is nothing but a faded version of my old self
i’m effortlessly forgetting.


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