The devil said that my body was easy to inhabit,
because I was already riddled and rattling with demons,
out of the habit of trying to save myself, my soul, I looked myself in the mirror and declared another war,
offering myself the dreams I thought I’d lost.
My Mediterranean blood burned through the blue of the British Isles that beat within me,
passion pulsing as my lips long to let the world know that I am ready to be alive again,
stealing kisses from spirits that only ever wanted to wish me well,
and wailing into the waiting wind, just to keep my voice fresh.
I told the devil that I did a good impression of a living human,
and I think that’s why he fell for me,
because everybody loves the fantasy of humanity,
especially when it is escapable.
He slips out, you see, when I sleep.
He does the most dastardly things when I sleep.