Photo by Evgeniy Smersh on UnsplashSatan take the mic.
This world needs a good dose of devil
to show the holier-than-thous
they can’t spit us down
without us spitting back.
When I was still a hologram
you were the 3D printer
that put me back on solid ground.
So here’s a hymn I wrote
in blood for you.
Satan take the mic
because I’m too drunk right now to slur these lyrics.
Something about a worthless life
as told through mixed metaphors
about childhood trauma and train hopping anecdotes.
The cracked plates in my head
or the reasons why I can never sleep.
The makings of a chaotic failure:
the best kind of failure.
Satan take the mic
and make it a ballad.
I wanna know who the devil loved.
God in heaven or angels choir,
all death metal
synthesized through a busted soul
with bass notes licking sweat
and blood from the pickups
you’ll never replace.
I want to be your advocate, Satan — but,
you’re just so wrong about so many things.
Satan take the mic
because it’s time to give your eulogy.
Who did we lose this time
and on which occasions will we
decide to remember them?
No wait, nevermind. It’s a wedding toast.
Here’s to the lucky who-gives-a-shits,
and all the best in your future bitterness.
Satan take the mic
and hold it like a cock.
Swallow it whole and give
guttural indifference to all
the rock stars who abandoned you.
The sounds of gurgling
swampy slosh drips in your trachea
like the transcript of an intervention.
Satan take the mic
because the Christs always book the shows,
and the opening band sucks
and all need to hear is an advocate
no matter how wrong
tell me everything will be okay.
