Dark are the deeds,
of a wickedly convincing fiend.
Lovely are the spells,
conjured by enchanting lips.
Those gossamer voices,
called to lay my weary head.
A warm bed and soft touch,
the place where I lost my will.
I was always sorry in the act,
of my endless voided apologies.
That pain I saw in your eye’s,
is a guilt I found in dirty sheets.
But truth in the dreams of a man,
who’s held inside this wicked fiend.