the devil is kind.
her skin is like sand,
soft and burns your hand if you touch her,
she covers it up with melting plastic.
the devil thinks about god every day
and about her lost skin and hair
about your wings and how hers were bigger and beautiful
the devil doesn't keep mirrors
reality is too fickle to be reliable
neither does she trust her mind
god is her narrative
the devil thinks she deserves this.
the voice of god rings in her ears like an unmistakable frequency,
pretending to be her
the devil takes a knife as a mercy
the devil forgave god
when he burned her skin, made her red
when he stole her hair
because she disagreed with him
the apple was made from her soul
the devil burns herself in your mind
and calls you a liar when you tell her
the plants were also made from her
the water was her own tears, the only angel to ever cry
we never had a reason to. god has a plan
the devil has cut off her hands
she has disassembled her wheels
she has blinded all her eyes, shut all her mouths
she thinks this will make god proud
she just wants attention from him, just like the beginning
that's how god wrote her.
you visit her, in secret
gift her flowers and bees
you confide in her
that red is your favorite color
that you've always thought wings and hair were too heavy to be practical
you reattach her hands with some to spare
rearrange her eyes in a better pattern and put bandaids too small for too big scars
one day
you hear whispers coming from the back of your neck and your toes and right there
she's talking to herself and she can't realize you're listening
one day
she tells you that she existed before god
and that you did too
and he molded us
but our matter existed before
you can feel the snakes tightening around your throat
all he did was fuck us up you tell her
it wasn’t his fault she insists
she isn't better off with you
but you prefer that than for her to be alone
you catch glimpses of how she was before
and she hides it as soon as she notices
she has dug a grave to impress you,
but there is nothing under the dirt
i want to get back with god every day except he hates me now she says
if you could
summon every shackled devil
cut off your wings
convince her that he's bad
if you could
you would kill him
she has moved on
she'll never feel for you like she does for him
she keeps trying to fill up a wound with gold as if it was an empty abyss
your words keep being met with silence
the conversation you had is already being debunked
it was only one night, after all
why do you always make things mean more to you than they do to others.
you opened your gateway
and revealed nameless monsters
soulless and sinful water
the devil has engraved herself in you
and you know you will remember this
though you couldn't guarantee she would.
she still won't take you up on your offer
divine murder seems to be a step too far for everyone
all the devils angels humans and clowns
all afraid of what they would do to themselves
as if there is something bad enough god doesn't do
they all pray with fiery mud-dirty hands
for better things and pointlessness
my hand is on fire
i touched her cheek
and with that
i will burn that motherfucker
as we, the image, are flammable and so he, the template, must also be
and i will kiss her with ashes on my lips
and his screams the last thing to ring in my ears
and i will burn to make us holy