The Devil

He found me in white—
rosary around my wrist,
eyes too wide to understand the fire
he carried right in front of my eyes.

Hell’s son.
Made of ruin and smoke,
his touch was the first sin I ever tasted.
He didn’t steal my innocence—
I gave it to him, like an offering
wrapped in trembling hands
and whispered prayers.

He looked at every corner of my temple
like it was a forbidden altar.
and gasped a sweet blasphemy that we both believed.

I prayed for strength.
But he told me my God wasn’t watching
here.

I let him brand sin into my skin
and called it salvation.
Let him tear my faith in pieces
just to rebuild it
in the shape of his name.

He said I looked holier this way—
undone,
touched,
trembling with guilt
and aching for more.

He left burns shaped like miracles
and I wear them under my lace
and still kneel at church
with his taste between my lips.

I don’t fear hell anymore.
Not when I’ve touched it
and known that damnation
can feel like love
if you beg for it sweet enough.

I’ve danced with the devil
and I fell in love with him.