The Devil Made Me Do It
The Devil Made Me Do It
He sits upon my shoulder
whispering awful things
and I dare not repeat
the nasty songs he sings.
He claims he is not evil
it’s was all just bad PR
that caused his fall from favor
when he was a rising star.
His days are long and scary
as he wanders Hades halls
with his ever present “hell” phone
but no one returns his calls.
He hisses to me meanly
of the things that might have been
if he hadn’t introduced her
to the origin of sin.
So now he rides my shoulder
not much smarter, only older,
claims he’s neither bad nor good
just a bit misunderstood.
1/21/2013
submitted to – Any poem you ever wrote NOT for a contest
sponsor – Broken Wings
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2016
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