Sulphur in the air,
smells like old release.
Cynical
repudiations and denials.
Calm
is the creeping death,
the one that steals in,
like the taste of temptation.
Dream of it.
That total submission.
Just laying back
and letting it flow over.
Wake to it,
that aching void,
yearning for the touch
of hot fire.
Hell has many fingers,
and they all reach right inside,
to massage the ego
and steal the soul.
One hit.
One sip.
Oh, shit.
Oh, fuck.
Or one day off
is nothing to revile.
No one will ever know.
To one will ever see.
That blackness in your heart.
That failure kept inside.
Such is the way
with all our sins,
one by one
their hooks sink in.
Barbed, so they don’t come loose.
No one gets away
unscarred
in their skin.
Everything you want
is yours.
Just have to want it more
than the smell
of Hell,
seeping from your pores.
She’s an easy road,
a thousand bodies wide,
waiting
for one step on her path.
The devil is a real bitch.
Better kill that thing in you
real quick.
‘Cause from here on out
it doesn’t get easier.
DJR – 2023
