Silence and the Devil
Sometimes the devil is silent — I stopped talking.
I've never been as happy
the way the sun sets,
and the moon wraps
itself in a laso
of stars.
My home never home,
the way my bags are
invisiblably packed
with childhood memories
and cactus tasted tears.
I'm stung but you change
the puddles I step in-to
bible scriptures
and love poems.
I ask God am I a abuser
or a user the way her tongue
curves like the devil's
stantic dances that become
her tongue.
My bags are being packed,
numbing my voice with
syringes, candy droplets
and tempations I can't speak.
She's kicking me out of a shelter,
a home, the devil's den for a child
who's, blood isn't as tainted as
mine.
Tainted with ruined lungs,
water-downed tongues,
ruined-broken hearts,
i'm not required to love you
are words that paint
onto my canvas like
classical flute.
Piano keys hitting my
testomines, my cries,
but he changes it all.
I'm the black keys,
the black sheep,
i don't have a home
like I used to know.
Because there's no longer
hellos or goodbyes
Just me and my prayers
that become only silence.
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