They said the Devil was a beast,
born of fire, bred for pain,
with burning eyes and sharpened teeth,
a soul that bled disdain.
But when I saw him…
I didn’t flinch.
His hands were warm, his gaze serene,
he spoke in tones so soft, so clean.
He didn’t scream, he didn’t scar
he lured me in, from afar.
He told me love could be a cure,
and I, still wounded, felt so sure.
He kissed like someone who’d once been hurt,
with trembling grace, and careful flirt.
He brought me flowers, whispered tales,
and silence wrapped in velvet veils.
He knew my name before I spoke,
knew where to touch, and never broke.
But when I laid my head on his chest,
there was no heartbeat
just hollow rest.
No horns, no flames, no crimson cape,
just a tailored suit and a scent like escape.
He danced with me beneath the eaves,
as if we’d loved in distant dreams.
And when he said, "you’re all I need,"
I believed…
not knowing it was only a spell he’d weaved.
I left too late. Far too late.
His hands stayed etched into my skin,
not as wounds
but aching within.
And I learned, through silence and aching bliss,
the Devil doesn’t storm the door.
He walks right in,
looks into your eyes,
and calls it love.
YOU ARE READING
illusions
Puisi"This is where I write down my thoughts and ideas about various topics that pique people's curiosity."
