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Hell Isn't Full of Monsters

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Hell isn't full of monsters.
Of horned spiders.
Of gnarled fires ripping into shadows.

Gnashing teeth doesn't fill the gaps.
Withered bodies don't writhe when conjured.
And demons never laugh high pitched chitters.
Hell isn't full of monsters.

I've been to Hell and back.
I've seen the mask that Hell hides in.
Sized inside a sinking cement ground covered to the brim
In human blood spilt by others who smile with jovial glee
As they rip the rim of others in the place that hearkens cruelty.
The outer darkness is called the outer darkness, not because of what happens inside.
But because of what spills out.

Light fleeing rapidly from the cracking shell.
And sin skipping along, chasing the light to where it leads.
To an intricate design of motorways and signs.
Slipping into sleeping homes of suspecting children.
Begging their watchers to let the light drip through the cracks.
Just enough to let them see the sin that came along with it.

Suspecting Children learn how to live by seeing the sin
Sensing the patterns it holds within,
And watching it's ways all the while learning how to sense it's smiles.
And once you learn how to run from sin, you hide under the cloth of dark.

Soothing the cracks by dabbing it with holy water soaked into the waltz you play.
A waltz that spins in endless loops, we humans use it to justify the lies we tell.
And convince ourselves, that hell is full of monsters.
Of horned spiders.

Of gnarled fires ripping into the shadows.

The truth is that hell is full of humans.
Only deformed by the ripped off skin.
Blood hugging the ground.
The ground, stroking the unseen gas limping into their mouths.
Without a thought they breath in the fumes we used to call toxicity.

In this city people smile all the while they walk along assuming hell is just a fire pit.

Well, I've been in it.

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