Quiet

I am quiet.

In love with the Devil on a quiet night.

 Our silence says so much more about us, doesn't it? The drips of our ellipsis.

Communication is closed, and once again, I am shut out. It is always so. But you are never denied when you are in love with the eternal. That is why I dance with him, and consorted with him.

 Mary Mary was in love with the Devil.

 I saw Goody Mary with the Devil.

 The chill came to me so. It is better than anything human because there is no ache. And no warmth like opium that makes us complacent. Only dull fear and constant, sharp want.

I was in love with the Devil who kept me disabled and thirsty. I needed him because I needed him. It is too quiet on these dry evenings to hear him. That is because he is a virus in my blood. The shivers of tomorrow are redeemed. And now all whom I ever loved love him. He walked through each gate, like a door-to-door vacuum salesman, shook their hands and said...take my drugs.

He can charm anyone.

I am quiet because it is too late to fight him. When it burns so badly, then, then it's like the real opium burn.

 I am blind and quiet, because I love the Devil. He is good to me.

 We need each other.

Drink this, take this. He keeps me wrapped in blankets. It's not over until it's over. The hospital wants what's best for you, Mary.

I pray to him. I call him God. Because he is the only one.

We need each other.

I am in love. "I." I know not we.

I eat opiate-traced mirrors. My mouth is bleeding.

Full of not-enough cuts.

I am quiet. He tastes like nothing. He was not there. He was with someone else.

The night is quiet. I am addicted to air.

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