whistling by graveyards
where I will
dance upon grave after grave
Friday the 13th
Black cats and breaking mirrors
just to hear you scream:
Anita Marie… you’re a devil!
And I will take you hand and say as gentle
as a dry leaf landing on an dark lifeless street.
” I’m not a Devil, I’m the Devil and you’re my evening treat.”
Daily Writing Prompt: Chuckle