Am I wrong?


Right now The Devil’s talkin’ to me through a
random body on Earth. His voice comes from be-
hind the moon and it’s angry. Wrathful, even.
It’s too bad the man he inhabits can’t see
the cyclone whirling or hear black flies buzzing.
Instead he’s pacing. He’s shaking. He’s yelling.
The man is a ball of rage. His hands are cold
because they’re inches away from Lucifer
(the gale force of his ten foot wings keeps it damned
cold and windy at the bottom of the pit)
and he doesn’t even realize it. He’s blind
deaf and dumb, but the man is not stupid. No.
The words he speaks are awful. He says, “You are
Lucky I don’t kill you, you rotten little
Bastard. You’re a goddamned child! You’re a fag!
You’re soft! You’re weak! You’re pathetic! I hate you.”
What does Lucifer do? Nothing. He just grins
and says something like, “I don’t hate you, brother.
I find it admirable the way you watch
over your friends and family. But um … what
about me? Am I chopped liver or something?
I thought this was a goddamned family, bruh.”


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