Some days I am so convinced that I hate him that I can feel hell in my blood
But it's the days of weakness
Those rain filled, grey-scale days
that have me writing with the residual stardust
left in the corners of my eyes  
left from when I was star struck myself.
I think to myself,
"if I can just get these words out, maybe I'll finally be free."
But the words never end
they are the never-ending flowing music of the spheres
and I begin to understand what "all truth is song but not all that is sung is truth" really means
They sung that boy's praises and I joined in until I learnt what a lie was
It's in that moment
I wondered if  I perhaps understood how Lucifer felt as he led worship