You spend your days poisoning livestock, stealing from collection plates and walking old ladies half way across the street. You take sweets from children; you don’t even like candy.
Dogs don’t like you.
Yet there is something about your hooves and horns, something about the way you dance. I want to believe it’s all a front, that you really like romantic comedies, picnics and long walks by the beach. Under the right circumstances, your candy shell would melt away to reveal vast expanses of nougat.
Really, you’re an onion—beyond each layer is another layer of tears. Your apartment is surrounded by a lake of fire, and that there’s a snowball’s chance you’d change.
If you ever want to get coffee, I know a place. Your coffee is a mirror; black, without sugar—extra hot.
-Anonymous
Anonymous Love Letters 