The Devil Prays Tonight

What’s the matter with you?
Sending me angels, with wings as wide as the sky
with hands as soft as petals, holding me as if I could fly.

Stop mocking me!
Yes! Indeed, I’m the wounded devil
broken head, bloated heart
ankles- hurt, hands- anchored.
But I was a devil who did no evil
except believing in something;
something quite medieval
that came in a shape of double ovals
skewed to the middle
looking so royal acting so loyal
keeping me moving in the spiral
of a never ending ritual.

of course I couldn’t spell the word
I'm not a coward,
I've tried before
it took so much of me that even if I could
I know that I would, not.

and please, I beg of you
stop lending me your sorrow
I would prefer to borrow a burrow
where I can hide my soul
from all the ghosts and ghouls
haunting me in every tomorrow
and bury my worries
that would grow memories
as sweet as cherries

Life, if only, for tonight
You could tell the angels to stay
for maybe tomorrow,
when the cherries ripe and the sun’s bright
the soul could be restored to the devil’s right
mind, not hands, again.

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