I was bone to play the part
Evil from the start
At least that’s what I’ve been told
Since they wrenched me from my mold
Two years old and sinnin
Yes my head was spinnin
The demon child of Saten
Least that’s what they’ve been sayen
And when I was a teen
Boy was I mean
Taking shit from none
Looking out for number one
Now that I’m a man
I do what I can
To hide the secret form of evil
That everyone says I have
I’ve never known it’s name
But it’s caused me so much pain
Never seen it raise its head
But I’m stuck with it til dead
And now here on my deathbed
A strange thought enters my head
Can you really be that evil
If you do good all your life?
The pastor takes this in
Utters the last words I comprehend
And the last words that I ever heard
“No I reckon not.”
About the Creator
Vicious Avarice
The ramblings of a man obsessed with fate. Poetry, quotes, and inspiration. I am a published author who rides the beast of imagination. A storyteller. Check out my children’s book “The Christmas Monster” on Amazon or wherever books are sold
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskarabout 13 hours ago in Feast
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