Words tremble from my lips:

In my head they make perfect sense,

But he twists them and muddles them

Confuses and befuddles them

An artist in deception:

A quick-witted manipulation

He steals the floor .

I lose track; stutter, stumble

Hesitate, pause – and start again

But the damage is done

He is suspiciously sombre:

No tremble from his lips

To hint at smarmy glee.

The devil is skilled in the game of blame