if you knew the effort it takes to sand down my horns, to hide my blackened wings, to keep my tarnished halo hidden, these cloven hooves require special boots

often it is forgotten i can be the lightbringer, the chosen child before my being cast out, my fall more famous than my earlier position as a loftier being of sorts

before my annointment as king of hell

before my change in vocation into something less

they say pride cometh before the fall

at the beginning of this year i soared, high above the sins of this world, but as the year went on the chains of my failings dragged me down, faster and faster

the sudden re-entry into the atmosphere, the ignition of my wings, the loss of everything cherished, the flaming sword once righteous now stained with innocence

alone on this throne of cold stone

the screams of the damned my serenade

eternally trapped in this hell of my own design

it was my own fault, my own failings that i thought hidden from view, but like the evil in my eyes it was always there, traded in my sword for a pitchfork

turns out the devil is in the details, the more you get to know me the less appealing i become, going from the angel they fall for into the demon they grow to despise

the boogeyman they tell stories about

the one who is now known as the father of lies

the fallen angel relegated to the eternal solitude

designing torture for the souls is the easy part, their nightmares do most of the work for me, insidious torment from their own psyche, the true hell is their own mind

defenestration and limb removal by an eighty eyed creature with several slavering maws, the vengeful souls of victims long dead, the cold withering stars of lovers wronged

we make our own damnation with no need of help

build the walls of hell with every secret thought

our own kingdom to rule on a throne of skulls

made into the devil and fallen from grace, of loss and regret and rebellion against our fathers, our lovers, our gods and demons, all reflections of ourselves

i choose to wear my tainted robes over my feathered stumps, to make deals for souls at the crossroads rather than climb back to the pearly gates

i relish being the devil

i love being the embodiment of evil on earth

wouldn’t trade it for any salvation even if offered

how much for your pretty little soul beautiful one

i’ve got a head of lines, my hand on your thighs, my lips on your throat and a thousand things i would give for you

just ask