I saw the devil and he looked like you
cerebral thrift is a growing concern
as you embalmed my heart before it stopped beating,
you'll eat me whole to procure my slow descent
into the slipstream of the stampede to your swift madness,
the dreary call of an impish grin
a devil may care shrug and an overshot jaw,
a growl and a torch of yellow vents pale arrogance
you can’t forget me, I’m the infallible fallible one,
the one with crimson in my eyes and ground up broken glass in my kisses
my blood boils with a thick desire, though my body remains ashen and clammy,
fevered to the touch as if here I dwell on my sodden death bed
I spend an emotional discharge as hungry mouths draw in,
all atoms that fly blend to sabotage flight as rumors die in trepidation
they flounce the jolly roger of disgust at a half masted repulse,
still, this fuels the null and the cramps of its sway
and this blond moment for a shaved head chuckle behind pursed lips,
our eyes fused, their matted vision espies tension with a palpable rumble
a quaking sea of ardor that splashed and flooded,
its tidemark etched in the corners and walls of this room
throbbing raw, all emotive movement lies a short snap,
a crack of a lion tamers whip, a quick draw from the gunslinger of temptation
I feel the urge to play dead, to volley this hail storm of bullets back,
to pierce through the barrel and out of the handle, to slow his game
in the face of all the pale shadows lays his dead drop aspirations mane,
he chews and spits out my failures and short comings on the floor at his strange feet
his love affair with purified disaster still lingers in the liver of me,
a fine coating of pesticide was ingested through the terrible savagery of his stare,
your god is in collusion with a well branded and erstwhile devils trend,
a pack mules designs have been patented in the pursuit of progress
swearing fealty when the disease is more of a punch than a slap,
too many fangs and nowhere near enough the greatness for onslaught
you tried to persuade me to let the good times roll, though to more of a free-wheel,
its a horrible occupation to be a jester bereft of the ability to make an audience merry
a stage full of potential compost says more than the boat load of one liners can,
a trilogy of lies and untruths that sprout the fake churns of lisps and prayers
the shakedowns for the contraband that instills wild prescription dreams,
eyes glaze, its a skill you’ve perfected travelling from one emotional car crash to the other
a glass heart shattered to dust, all demons are bastards....but this one may be different,
you sketched a fine diagram of your pure self inflicted rage
a pustule that swells to the burst with a fire and blaze of a radioactive fury,
a stinging nettle that made the smelling of a rose such an arduous task
though you hold me no fear, your beady ocular perusal generates interest,
a reprehensible tame fear, an eyelash flicker to a soulful gesture
the devil stands before me, which one is the ventriloquist......which one the dummy?
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