אוטוביוגרפיה.

You think the devil has horns? Well, so did I
But I was wrong - her heels click sharp and her lipstick’s dry
She’s kind, composed, she’ll catch you by surprise
A smile so calm - she’s the devil in disguise
 

He said he was in a rush that night
She found him lost beneath the amber streetlight
Dropped his keys, she bent with grace
Picked them up with that porcelain face
 

“Sir, this city isn’t kind to wandering men
Not when she’s out and hunting again
She won’t scream, she won’t shout
She’ll simply let your fire burn out.”

She walked him home with a lullaby stare
He offered thanks, she just stood there
Then said, “You seem sharp, but not quite safe
Not from the woman who rewrites fate.”
He turned the key, stepped inside
Felt the room flicker like something had died
Checked his bag, checked his phone
But somehow, he still felt less alone

No warnings screamed, no red alert
Just the scent of smoke and a trace of her skirt
She didn’t need claws to make him bleed
Just a memory sharp enough to feed

You think the devil has horns? Well, so did I
But I was wrong - her heels click sharp and her lipstick’s dry
She’ll look like help, she’ll sound like grace
She’ll kiss your wounds and leave no trace
You won’t know her till it’s far too late
A queen of silence, dressed in fate
She’s warm, refined, and dead behind the eyes 
That woman? She’s the devil in disguise.