London from my phone

Bolder

Angel on my arm

Devil on my shoulder

And every day

The devil gets bolder

Whispers of temptation

Wistful frustration

Flames of desire that lick me

The pain of the fire as this guilt does prick me

Inescapable and unbreakable

These bonds that chain me

The kiss of the lash of those that would tame me

This weak mortal vessel

Ground to dust with the pestle

That grinds and binds me

Till there's nothing left to find of me

Because that devil's strength grows faster

Caught in the battle to be my own soul's master

Sometimes my thoughts are darker than my skin — Aarish