Ode to Satan; Mourn to God

I get asked about it so often; it feels like a dream.

No, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Please stop asking. Some people say it ended as abruptly as it started, but they have no idea what happened behind the scenes.

I was never the director, but the actor in every single horror scene.

Your boos and the looks on your face.

I sometimes wonder if they doubt every word I say. I never lied about it, but I never revealed all the terrible, terrible things.

He gets to continue to sit on his throne, scepter in hand, crown tilted, surrounded by his cesspool of deceit and lies.

If manipulation had a name, it would also have his eyes.

Every picture was flushed down the toilet, like my own brain- battered, shot gun shells, and the smell of burning whiskers and fur.

Screams and silence, seeing red.

Victimization is our daily bread.

Temptation can’t resist, when it’s caught holding hands with the dead.

All the power and glory go to who?

Amen.