I lit a joint
at the edge of reason,
Socrates pulled up a stool,
Lucifer leaned on the sun.
"Truth burns,"
Socrates muttered,
exhaling philosophy like smoke,
"but lies rot slower."
Lucifer grinned,
flicked ash into the void.
“They call me fallen,” he said,
“but at least I jumped.”
We passed the joint
between silence and thunder,
while the stars held their breath
and time forgot its name.
"I asked too many questions,"
I said.
Socrates winked.
"Good. Keep asking."
"And I loved too loud,"
Lucifer added.
"Good," I said.
"Keep burning."
We laughed until reality cracked,
and God peeked through
like a landlord with no keys.
Then I walked home,
lungs full of fire,
head full of questions,
heart still undefeated.
