Thursday, September 9, 2010

Devil Down

My hands are heavy bearing the weight of fingers filling with lead to furiously write the horrid emotions that load my heart like a gun that will implode if I do not share. My body feels stiff like a state of postmortem. My veins are poison as they fill with mercury from the heat I am consumed with in anger! I did not know my words could spill out of me like a child eagerly ripping open his bag full of Halloween candy. I am not sorry that my words are as vile as a snakes venom, because they are just and deserving. I will not allow you to be life’s lucky lottery ticket, you are not going to win. You may think you control the mind of those you oppress, but rest not, this mind you do not control. I am not afraid of the dark, or the leeches you plague my thoughts with hoping to drain me of happiness. I am angry. I am mad. But I am not afraid. I am not.

Some do not share my same belief in damming you to hell, but let them know I will not hold a grudge beyond this life for them. For that would require me to show my teeth and they would wear thin from the grinding of words that do not nourish my mind but instead fill me with hate. For the next life, everything will be on my terms like a finely written contract between me and life. See life and I will make a deal and it will cost you your soul. Do you want to play? My rules. My way. Did you make a deal with the devil? Is your soul going to hell upon leaving this life? One would assume that His eyes are upon you now. Ready to take the creation he has made, ready to collect on his formation – he needs you now. The devil is watching waiting behind the door – feel free to answer when He rings the bell. Here let me give you a push or at the very least open the door for you. See I have manners, manners capable of crushing the tiny, destructive tree of life you created. Some would say you need to devil down your past and cleanse yourself from this life. I wish you to just wash away, diminish, in a waterfall of acid. Be gone like a diary of a dead man that tells no tales. You have watched me burn for so long, but now, it is your time.

Wicked as a pitchfork shoved into my gut, comes the news of your conquest over yet again another decree of the edict. But what you stab at is straw. Empty as the scarecrow that is void of heart, mind, emotions, or any substance of matter. Refusing to give you a moment’s thought. For moments make memories and memories make a mess. You can have mine back – all of them. I want new ones. Yes I have much to say. I have 17 years worth of words for you. We are playing an inning-less game. Hope you are rested, but I guess there is no rest for the wicked. Ready to devil down or are you ready to play my game?

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