soon.

xii.

̶ ̶ xii. ERROR FOUND.

the devil continues to whisper against my ear, his voice alluring me to commit a crime against ones self. to me, it sounds like a lullaby, one my mother used to sing to put her weeping baby to sleep, a melody almost unrepeatable.

i do as he says. i venture to the bathroom, i draw a bath, a bottle of antidepressants stares back at me. i'm too mentally drained to realize what was happening to actually stop myself, so i continue to undress, and sigh as the warm water counteracts against my cold feet.

he sits in the corner now, fiddling his thumbs with a grin on his face. his horns weren't as sharp as people drew them out to be, but his body still left a haunting image of only blood red. a portrait even my restless soul could never forget.

as i swallow the bottle empty and shiver as the water turned to ice, i wonder where God was. for now i know that Lucifer himself is not a figment of our imagination, but the person who died for us, who we pray to when times get tough;

he is not real.

[ for we live in the burning pits of hell in a world we call reality,
then nothing more to follow but a deep darkness,
falling backwards into nothing less than agony,
over and over and over again.

good luck trying to find the end of it all. ]