Why You Little Devil

When five years old
if given a choice to be the devil or me
old scratch wins it every time
I don’t think I wanted to be evil
or that I thought Satan all that cool
but to have substantial evidence
a real appreciable and irrefutable fact
to hold and cling to, to truly know
I was bad
a weak and soft abomination
lacking coordination
fallen and falling
who may be a retard
in need of pharmaceutical intoxication
to be drug-caged
enslaved in a molten pit at the earth’s core
an object of fear and sometimes pity
a wicked beast put in its place
away from decent folk and their polite society
that at least
would have been a relief
then there’d have been a reason
a good one
for why things were as they were

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