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The Meaning of Hell

I used to not care about going to he**,

then I realized I lived there.



I've seen it all,

prison walls

and broken tiled floors.

Words burned in my chest,

like fire to flesh.



So many nights I have cried myself to sleep,

ears bleeding from the words you've given me,

craving the beauty of life,

which I've never seen.



What did I do to deserve this torture?

Spilling from wrists,

just to find any kind of closure.



Satan is my mother,

my mother is Satan.

Her smile hides what is real,

when little red horns come out,

a pitchfork at my throat.



I drown in the guilt of something I cannot stop.

Scarred and tormented from your evil,

lost beyond retrieval.



I feel hog-tied,

ropes strain my wrists,

trapped within the misery of He**.



The place I used to call my home sweet home.




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