The Devil Is Kind

Juliana Freire
Content Warnings
Jan 16, 2022 5:44 PM

the devil is kind.

her skin is like sand,

soft and burns your hand if you touch her,

she covers it up with melting plastic.

the devil thinks about god every day

and about her lost skin and hair

about your wings and how hers were bigger and beautiful

the devil doesn't keep mirrors

reality is too fickle to be reliable

neither does she trust her mind

god is her narrative

the devil thinks she deserves this.

the voice of god rings in her ears like an unmistakable frequency,

pretending to be her

the devil takes a knife as a mercy

the devil forgave god

when he burned her skin, made her red

when he stole her hair

because she disagreed with him

the apple was made from her soul

the devil burns herself in your mind

and calls you a liar when you tell her

the plants were also made from her

the water was her own tears, the only angel to ever cry

we never had a reason to. god has a plan

the devil has cut off her hands

she has disassembled her wheels

she has blinded all her eyes, shut all her mouths

she thinks this will make god proud

she just wants attention from him, just like the beginning

that's how god wrote her.

you visit her, in secret

gift her flowers and bees

you confide in her

that red is your favorite color

that you've always thought wings and hair were too heavy to be practical

you reattach her hands with some to spare

rearrange her eyes in a better pattern and put bandaids too small for too big scars

one day

you hear whispers coming from the back of your neck and your toes and right there

she's talking to herself and she can't realize you're listening

one day

she tells you that she existed before god

and that you did too

and he molded us

but our matter existed before

you can feel the snakes tightening around your throat

all he did was fuck us up you tell her

it wasn’t his fault she insists

she isn't better off with you

but you prefer that than for her to be alone

you catch glimpses of how she was before

and she hides it as soon as she notices

she has dug a grave to impress you,

but there is nothing under the dirt

i want to get back with god every day except he hates me now she says

if you could

summon every shackled devil

cut off your wings

convince her that he's bad

if you could

you would kill him

she has moved on

she'll never feel for you like she does for him

she keeps trying to fill up a wound with gold as if it was an empty abyss

your words keep being met with silence

the conversation you had is already being debunked

it was only one night, after all

why do you always make things mean more to you than they do to others.

you opened your gateway

and revealed nameless monsters

soulless and sinful water

the devil has engraved herself in you

and you know you will remember this

though you couldn't guarantee she would.

she still won't take you up on your offer

divine murder seems to be a step too far for everyone

all the devils angels humans and clowns

all afraid of what they would do to themselves

as if there is something bad enough god doesn't do

they all pray with fiery mud-dirty hands

for better things and pointlessness

my hand is on fire

i touched her cheek

and with that

i will burn that motherfucker

as we, the image, are flammable and so he, the template, must also be

and i will kiss her with ashes on my lips

and his screams the last thing to ring in my ears

and i will burn to make us holy