When I was born
Onto New York’s crowded streets
I never imagined an early teenage career
No education
No school
No rules
Boy, I was so cool

When I was thirteen I shot my first love
Hit man,
They’d call out while I smoked two Cuban cigars
Bottle of Jack Daniels
Thirty bucks a pop
As I migrated across America
The beautiful

Not what I have been doing

All my life though
To the land of the free

My life was perfect until I earned myself
That death certificate letter
Ironically initialed by the biblical betrayer

Six
Six
Six

At the time, Satanists like Lucifer
Were simply town-held rumors
Hoodlum gangs were always opposite
I swished letter into trash and slept
As if it were to be my last
Night
Above earthly ground

It was unfortunate

My brain soon unraveled his presence
The door and window slammed sudden
Awaking dust particles
Along with me startled beyond the grave

“Who’s next in line Matt?”
Raspy voice and sharp, white horns
Confirm nightmare to reality
I look sharply left and to my right
Quickly confused beneath new scenery
Original
Mansion
Replaced
It remains fiery with towering stalactites
Along with stalagmites
Silently trapped
In hell’s threshold

“Come one.”
Hardened exterior flesh suggests anger

No matter
Life is near end
Whisper impromptu prayers to above
Breath one last time
Cry near the tips of his bloody trident
Say, goodbye.

Hear that sound
And the eighteen screams following