I fear I may have fallen
For the Devil’s angel.
She rivals Helen,
This beautiful archangel.

Her pale white skin,
Her glowing ruby eyes,
Her hair dark ashen;
All are lies.

Her lips seem so willing to kiss
But her love is a veneer,
She gives artificial bliss.
Her caresses are not sincere.

For though her skin is pale moonshine
Made of angelic satin,
She is not of the divine.
She is from the rebellion.

And though she peers at me through a curtain
Of silky ebony strands,
This glorious demon
Has blood stained hands.

And her garnet eyes are made of stuff
Unclean and unknown.
And yet, to me, she is a seraph,
Mysterious and alone.

I know to turn away.
I know that she is awful,
But I cannot keep at bay
No matter how unlawful.

Her calm disposition
Calls to my senses.
Her voice, its own musician,
Breaks down my defenses.

She is evil incarnated;
That I know.
But my vision became clouded
When I was shot with that burning arrow.

Her love is full of passion,
Of the scorching kind.
Such power forces all into submission;
Into an eternal bind

What am I to do
When this temptress beckons?
Do I look for a rescue?
Become one of her minions?

She appears at every corner
Of my now misshapen soul.
I feel like my own mourner
For my heart blackened like coal.

I should have abandoned
Her sickly, sweet temptation,
But I let my mind be deadened
By her careful manipulation.

And now I am lost
In my own damnation.
To forever remember the cost
Of lacking purification.