D I V I N E
He walks barefoot with the moonlight shining around his head like a halo;
It seems ironic. He laughs with you about it beneath a sky pregnant with stars,
Plucks the cigarette from between his lips and grins,
Razor sharp teeth,
You think, if looks could kill I'd surely have been dead long ago.
Take my hand, he says
And you do, because how could you refuse a boy so bewitching?
But he is not a boy, the gentle wind whispers from somewhere between the trees,
He is a monster, a demon;
Half boy half darkness,
And his wrath will swallow you whole
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