The devil has sown my lips together. Not with a needle and thread but instead with words so horrible they were seemingly to low for even a demon. As I sat across from him in the shallow creek, every nerve in my body told me to grab the closest semi sharp object I could find, and stab with with it. But I couldn't, I wouldn't, I loved him too much. Now, even after all of this time, he still grows on my heart. Like a tumor, he slows down the beats. The tumor of love is the same as the kiss of death. I can do nothing, but watch him move on to his next victim. I can tell, by the look in his eye as he passes by, that he knows I am still struggling with the wounds from his horns. An act of love or expression of joy may loosen a stitch so my mouth can try to form a smile. The devil will see I found my happiness one day and become my victim.
My Own Devil
January 3, 2012