588. 25/7/16 (#580)
These words are not what they say,
Beneath their skin lies vulgar truth,
Of twisted intent, forced subversion,
Encased in some meaningless shell.
These eyes are not what they seem,
Behind their lenses a world is seen,
With such contempt and such,
Attention to wicked detail.
These hands are not how they feel,
They have reached into souls,
And ripped them to shreds,
In an instant of barbaric honesty.
Demons live in angels,
None are free from dark,
Some can hide from light,
Demons are angels,
When the light