When I was a little boy, and it was raining, my grandpa and I would go outside and watch from the front porch. One day, it was cold, and it was raining, and he stepped under the water pouring over the edges of the gutters. Afterwards, he made me stand in the freezing downpour.
I remember crying.

That was the first time I remember feeling resentment; the first time I noticed the devil sitting on my shoulder. He spoke in riddles so when I was little, I remember reading an encyclopedia. I would mark the pages with dead colorful leaves I found at school. So when he spoke and I didn't understand I would read until I fell asleep that night. I would stare into his eyes and count back from 10.
And he would skin the sheep.

So now I have dreams of puzzles and I find myself in labyrinths I subconsciously assembled after you said you loved me. I cover myself with a wet blanket and raise the sails, heading for a hazing He felt I deserved. I took the brand the angels gave me and licked the blood off the thousands of knives stuck in the walls. The floors that used to wail have misplaced their voices, or maybe you've missed yourself; there is no lost and found here.
And then he wins.