An odd sort of Poetry · death is a good friend · vice and all her ailments

hell is real

they talked for hours on whether or not hell was real.
and I was quiet.
I was quiet because I knew that it was.

I’ve been there often.
seen the flames
through the blinding darkness
and felt my bones
turn to ice
as everything else melted away.

I’ve seen hell.
seen the emptiness of the painted halls
and the sterile smoke
in every breath.

I’ve heard hell.
heard the desperate cries
of lost souls
that I knew
and wondered whether or not
anyone could hear
mine.

they sit there
and continue to wonder if hell exists,
but they’re staring right at it,
straight into my damn eyes.
– I’ve been there and when I came home
little devils made a house in my mind.

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