Evil is

subjective

but, to me,

hollow girl,

i met Evil when i was thirteen

Evil had a name

i worked with him

befriended him,

Evil was pale and docile

harmless

i remember his crooked gaze

his knobby wrists,

Evil had cold fingers-

but i don’t remember

the taste of his lips

i left my innocence on Evil’s bed years ago,

i haven’t seen him since,

but Evil has an aftertaste-

orange juice and vodka.

I can’t drink it anymore,

when i do, Evil’s face is etched into my eyelids.