To you the man with the grasping hands and the taste of my childhood in his belly. I hope that hell exists so I can imagine you burning eternally to a crisp. You better hope that the Devil is fast cuz you don’t want me to find you faster. He and I with so much in common I betcha he too remembers wings and runs the faster for it. I’ll stoke this new fire for ya just in case so there’s no confusion when you need something to keep you warm the next time we meet. wooo, doggy. Boy, you better run the Devil don’t like unauthorized impersonation, we all have standards, dontcha know? And you broke the rules, you didn’t come with hooves and horns or any of the proper warning signs just normal things like jeans and scuffed sneakers. In horror movies there’s always at least a birthmark shaped like an inverted pentagram or something, but reality gave nothing, not even a warning soundtrack with minor chords, just the un-rapturous thundering of my own heart as I learned early a lesson that came too late, that the devil that you know looks just like anyone you know, the birthmark just a mole underpants dingy and his hands so cold.