The devil makes me do it, every night, every time I close my
eyes, a sinister character sitting on one shoulder while the angel sits on the
other telling, as I tell them both to “shut the fuck up,” when they never do.
Every night I close my eyes and think of you, the devil
making me do it, there in the dark, sometimes sheets on my lap, this loud voice
prompting me, putting all those dirty pictures in my head.
I can’t help it, the devil makes me do it, here in the
afternoon all these years later, still seeing it all thrust before me like a
feast, waiting for me to plunge in, head first.
Every night, every time, I think of you, the devil voice
drowning out the voice of the angel that tells me to refrain, telling me I
might go blind. I might wear it out if I do it too much, but the devil makes me
do it, and I like it that way.
No comments:
Post a Comment