One, I was thirteen when the devil crawled into my skin and made a home there,
two, he would whisper his sweet words into my ears, so much I still have the candied aftertaste,
three, from within me, he climbed out of my throat making me choke on his crimson words,
four, I once was enthralled by his touch, so much he was the pillars that held up my collapsed frame,
five, he once was the salt that absorbed the memories that fell from my cheek like rain on a dismal morning,
six, he was the small glow of content golden sunlight that lingered in brilliant remembrance giving me hope for tomorrow,
seven, he ripped himself out of my skin, this body that once held itself is once again limp,
seven, it\'s hard to count when he dances on my bruised lung,
eight, he stole the warmth that kept my body warm from the vexation that boils in my bones,
nine, he left me in this sunken world of silent daydreams,
ten, my body is crimson again; and he is still holding my heart in his cupped hands.