The devil came to my door
He rang the bell and cried
He lied that I was once adored
His chest puffed out with pride
His deception blackly oozed because
There is blood upon his hands
By his nature he’s embodied faux pas
In his hollowed-out grandstand
Convinced there is an audience
Still, he bows his head to pray
“No.” is nothing obvious
I refuse him the time of day
He invades my home with anger
Grief that should have long been spent
His recklessness is dangerous
But he simply won’t relent
His wounds are dark and oozing
His heart is arctic cold
He reminds me that he thinks of me
At least that’s what I’m told
His prayers remain unanswered
He leans on crutch and wit
His aura is all cancered
No blame will he remit
Mare Martell 
