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He lives in and feeds off me,

The devil inside.

His advice, I ignore, mostly.

This tends to hurt his pride.

But I sometimes give him free rein.

And let him run a while.

When I rope him in again,

He hides behind my smile.

I’m glad I have my devil,

I wouldn’t want a saint.

For heaven comes, all too soon

And I suspect it smells of paint.