Scorching hot
Throat dry
I’m being berated
Her read tail
Hitting my face
Her eyes blue
As the ocean
Filled with the
Tears of her victims
I flinch
My seat shakes
I turn away
To shield the evil looks
Her eyes
Those that could kill
Her iconic horns
Mark the pages
Of sweat and tears
Her red pens
Filled with blood
Instead of ink
A person with no
Remorse for the less shrewd
Her ways
Haunt me in my sleep


Mind in a ramble
From her damaging curses
Steam pouring out
With frustration
I lie awake
Anticipating
For the day
Her true identity
Is proclaimed
Until then I hold my case
To the only cruel thing
That is imaginable ……
The Devil
She may be deceiving
But does not fool
Maybe the fire hole is behind the
Black board
Maybe her red suit and pitchfork
Are locked in her desk drawer
Along with the souls
From her past students