The Death of Lavenders

This is how it ends
with the Devil hiding under my desk
like Lavenders in a white pot
where love was supposed to stew
for no less than a day.

I can smell his sulfury breath
as he laughs to my face, in my dreams,
in those little eyes whose depths
go beyond all the known circles of hell.
In that smile that made my heart jump
towards heaven, one time—
when I need it most.

Prince of lies.

There was no sunshine.
There was no hope.
There was no goodness
that was waiting to be unleashed
in the middle of this darkness.

There was no saving me.