The Devil pours the drinks

Another day

Another walk

twisting the hand

that leads me.

Supplying the demand with warmth

yet gifted with the ones that deceive me.

Clinging to my tears

they will not seap from my eyes

For I am the one who knows that I am just incandescent

For I am the one that should not speak nor breathe as only my weap will cease to show.

A show is what I must do,

what I always prevail with my smile.

I look around hollow inside to ask how you are,

but my thoughts are wooden and pre-occupied.

An occupation says the nation

to guide me to my hysteria and revoke my nostalgic lessons of life.

Wisdom is told, that I must stay afoot the path

yet I fear this is why they sold the Devil their souls.

The Devil is what I reach for

a looming yearning in my head as these November nights enclose.

My blood runs heavy to this world of formality

and the proximity to the Devil it shows.