My best girl comes to call as the night falls,
like the shimmering stars across the blood moon,
never able to keep away,
because the Devil dared me to take her heart,
I reached in,
with manicured, meek little fingers and smiled as I felt her warmth.
Hell looked pretty on the postcards I sent to soul,
and as the moon went from blood to blue and back again,
I stayed by her side,
lost in an underground paradise,
where the weeks went by with a quickness that felt cruel.
Summer ended so soon,
chased away by bitter winter,
who had forgotten how to smile,
and decided that nobody else ought to either,
so there I was,
separated from the heaven of hell,
back in a boring, grayscale world,
when I could still taste technicolour on my tongue.
I could always remember.
I would wait by my window for the moon to make eyes at me,
dressed up all pretty in her favourite colour,
and the Devil would drop my darling at my door,
with a satisfied smile,
and the key to her heart.