Devil's Pie
Fresh Prince
Baked under a golden crust of lust
are dark cherries of desire
sinful juices simmering over the Devil's fire
these cherries' pits are throbbing
they beat like metronomes under boiling flesh
stewing in the pie and swelling with mire
until erupting in the heat, splashing bubbles of death
painting the pie's insides with purple on the doughy drapes
flushes of lust evaporate in sweltering sin
but as this purple soup breaks day's light with it's mid-night hue
the death of these black cherries depresses the crust
and pockets of pain escape, bleeding through the sagging flesh
as i draw a slice purple blood oozes over the knife
and portions are ripe with the aroma of decadent decay
i take a bite through the skin of sin as divine wine trickles
intoxicating my chin, i wipe feverishly through a purple grin
i watch as the prose poetry of life cools to the pasty taste of disappointment
lukewarm the sickly stickiness is stopped up
the clotted blood fails to flow when removed from the flames of the devil's fire
and the clouds of my lucid eyes clear as a tear falls and i drop my fork
thoughts of a second portion forgone, desire leaves a sour aftertaste
regret falls from my mouth in the form of a flake of the once golden crust
but now the cool clammy skin that holds the soul of evil
stews in my stomach fueled by the fire of my sins
cooking the deep cherries of desire until they swell and erupt
pregnant with seeds of evil, i've become a chef of death
and as i double over in expiration i wonder how many more walk this Earth
lucid eyes clouded by sin, lips rich with the skin of Devil's pie
1luv.