Devil's Heat

With devil's heat upon my back,
in a room that's empty and pitch-black,
I search for everything I lack;
I search to get myself on track.

There's fire right in front of me:
a burning, crumbling, dark city.
It's in my head, my vision's blurry;
It's in my palm with fingers sweaty.

Your eyes shine bright and then they burn
my timid brain in hopes I'll learn
through your mistakes and take a turn
away from sickness and my urn.

Please tell me now all that you know
of how to beat your greatest foe,
of hatred and that last death-blow,
of breathing in and letting go.


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Last poem of winter break.




"Talk, talk, talk, talk your devils down..." Colour Revolt Naked And Red