The Devil Wears a Pinstripe Suit

The devil wears a pinstripe suit.
He watches us through the window
of our room.
The devil’s in me
The devil’s in you
The devil’s in the dirty deeds
that we do.

He’s the grin on a
lustful stranger,
A baby born to a virgin
in a manger.
He feeds on lies and hypocrisy,
He’s mirrored in your stare when
you don’t like what you see.

He’s the man
lending a helpful hand,
The maître d’ offering comfort
in a foreign land.
Behind your eyes
after saying goodnight,
He will be waiting.

He will wait outside your doorstep,
He will wait in the back of your car.
He will wait while you go back in to get
that thing
that you couldn’t forget
because you swear
you wouldn’t go far.

He’s the angel
hovering above you,
Watching you closely through the glass
that was smashed
after you crashed
what was left
of all you thought mattered.

Now the devil
is all but a
shattered
memory
of a most beautiful,
broken
past.

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