The fires of hell become normal in time
As the demon is burned and tortured.
The constriction of chains and tightness
In limbs before they’re torn apart become
Nothing more than a daily massage.
The entrails he sees on the floor become
Just another reality he’s accustomed to facing
As he scoffs and laughs at his torturers unoriginality.
Pain, a feeling he’s long overcome is nothing more
Than a word to demonstrate false understanding of
True suffering is reached when you can no longer feel
Anything, no pain, no happiness, no sorrow, no joy.
The tortures of hell are all the demon knows,
Every waking moment is torture, the fire burns
With the intensity of a million supernovas, all
Ready to explode at any given moment.
The organs Of the demon, have turned to fireworks, constantly
Cracking from centuries of being ripped, torn and
Scattered all over hell and back to his body.
Those who still feel have a chance of recovery
Those who feel have chance at happiness
Those who feel, have a chance at freedom
The constriction of nothingness forever cages
The demon in hell, even now, while he walks
The earth barefoot connecting to the roots and ancestors
That walked the path before, crying out from beneath the
Tree of life, telling the demon to fight the nothingness,
To fight the darkest weapon of all... silence.
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