I don't quite understand the 'you and I,'
It's good, of course, but I can help thinking
'Could it be more?'

I've held so many women,
More than I can count.
But if I had to count.
I would say four.
And then I would say one.
My brain would say four.
My heart would say one.
I've only held one in my heart.

And she hates me.

The way a woman sings can make my heart melt.
How she accentuates the consonants in "****" can turn me on.
What level of dressing she will let me see her in consoles me.
Her willingness to hold my arm when we walk together,
How easily she shakes my hand when I first meet her,
Can change everything.

Really though, just kiss me.
I'm easy.

I remember when we met in person, like it was earlier
today.
I saw the car first, and new it was you, love.
Christ my heart was racing.
But ****, I was sure. I was so confident. Terrified.

I walked up to the back window you had rolled down.
Your hair was dyed black and shining, your skin wonderfully pale.
You were wearing teal. And you smiled.

"Hey" was all I needed to say.
I tried to pretend that I knew you really ******* well and that we were a normal couple.
It worked for a little bit.

That was a great day.

“Welcome,” the Devil said, smiling.

An unclothed man of pale skin and toned muscles stood feet away from a teenage boy with black, ashy, hair. The boy was wearing a simple outfit; white linen with black buttons, dark pants. Confidently, the boy stepped forward. Inches shorter than the still heavily breathing man, he put his hand on the strong shoulder and looked up into dark, untrusting eyes.

Hell wasn’t anything like Adrian thought it would be. He didn’t doubt it though, this was Hell alright. Whiteness was everywhere, almost blindingly bright. Exhausted from the fight, the shock of getting hit, the running and tumbling, he breathed loudly through his nose. His body was as it was on Earth. His scars, sweat and blood were all identical to how it was in the fight only minutes ago. There was a gaping hole about the width of his extended hand through his chest; his heart was mangled and torn but somehow still pumping.

“You died, Adrian. And God doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

“You probably think that your life on Earth was righteous enough to make it to Heaven, to meet God. And you’re right, really, you lived well. Your final moments alone should be enough to give you an ivory throne, but no. Nobody gets into Heaven.

“I’m sorry, Adrian.”

The Devil slid his hand down, off of Adrian’s shoulder and turned around. The fatigued in and out of the fighter’s breath was the only sound in the air.

“I’m feeling generous today,” Adrian could feel a cool gust of wind behind him. The boyish Devil walked forward and placed his hand onto the man’s chest. Slowly, he could feel the hole filling up; a numbing warmth filled his rib cage, a new vitality. “Have a good life, Adrian. Enjoy your gift.”

The Devil shoved Adrian backwards. He gasped.

And that's okay.

I am 26 letters more empty,
Than I was yesterday.
This world is the constant dripping of a tap,
Drilling into my skull one millimetre at a time.
This world is safely wrapped in bubble wrap,
Beautifully shattered from the inside.
We have thousands of bubbles to pop,
One god ****** pope at a time.
Interfering personal spaces,
Dancing wildly on the edges of dust.
We sit and rust on O2 particles
Kissing dreams of lust as our bones cuss.