#rhyme
#Thirstday
#atheistic
#mystar
Don't Judge The Devil
I don't intend to reveal my heart.
Some cold weapons made of steel, my scars.
No holster should ever wield my scars:
If so, enemies might trigger to spill my heart.
We're close, baby, but I feel quite far.
I glow, but I burn to yield like stars.
I float distant to keep my real light far—
Billows of heat sear, not appeal, tried hearts.
I loathe that I'm scared to reveal vile thoughts,
But know that it's fear, when I shield my heart.
I don't want to be...
I don't want to be called sensitive.
I chose a smile than to be called negative.
Sensitive... Negative...
Even though I'm supposed to be a man,
Sometimes those are all I am.
When things are going wrong,
And things go wrong a lot,
When it's hard to be strong,
I coffin those thoughts to rot...
And they grow gross, decaying:
A funeral of my own creating
Slowly haunt my soul, permeating.
Dying mind make me long for cremating...
Burn them all—all the internal ghosts debating.
Burst it all out like I want to, with no refraining,
But it's hard to break from a box ghosts keep nailing.
I want to open up, but fears lock me in,
And I'm too lost to map where the key is.
People are like heaven's gates to me since
They're shut—and God knows if I'm going in.
Never learned from anyone to share mean sins.
Masking the pain is what everybody teaches:
Never permitting a tear to fall,
Never giving an ear to all,
Dipping every pain inside,
Sinking in one's own mind,
Dying under a smile,
Lying beneath demeanors,
Dunking every sin in fright
So not to seem inferior.
It's tiring to keep up a face they want to see on me,
Seeming like a saint when I have had many wrong deeds.
But, baby, don't get me wrong; I love life.
Some music I sing along feels alive.
I imagine great futures and bright days,
But sun is not always leading my ways.
It feels awesome to applaud the devil.
He is flawed like I am, with a God to level.
I don't think they both exist, but hear this, my star.
One or millions of sins, your soul's binned behind bars.
Satan's no more sinner than you are,
Nor than I am, we're all not too far.
We long to be seamless, but we're torn apart—
The claws of our demons are thorns of hearts.
You thought we're like Jesus, the core of God?
We're not like who He is: we're Lords of flaws.
If not like Him, that leaves us with horns and claws...
They always hate Satan—his gory plots—
But claws shouldn't make him a horror star.
His flaws and his mayhems are folklores to guard,
Since all of his grave sins ignore cult laws,
Since all that he strained is, form his laws.
God taught to love rule breakers, to adore them all—
We're not above their sins, we're born with scars...
Ironic teaching—dear Satan is stored in bars.
Don't call him a traitor when you're a fort of scars.
I'm honest to my pen ink;
But, baby, with you, I'm more of a fraud.
Though hard to let you in,
Here goes my corny heart:
My star, I'm not a star.
