the land where i live now is nothing like my home.

It is nothing like my life, it is nothing like the hours i spent laughing, enjoying the bright skies and lighting of the world that encased me in. it was far from flawless, but it was less flawed than this. The skies are dimmed, the world is no longer friendly, the smoke stains my lungs and the flashes of the past stain my head

It is a playground for the demons who dwell, unconscious of their surroundings, their hearts and souls rendered useless. Hell is not fire, hell is not the place with the pitchforked man cloaked in black and red. For satan does not exist.

Satan is the pain that plagues us, that plagues the ones in the devil's playground. The ones who have glazed over eyes and blurred morality, the voices that keeps us stirring, the ones who make this pain so alluring.

There is no more darkness. There is no light. There is only grey. And that's the worst of them all, because hope can linger, and hope is the worst invention that  box gave the iron men. for it can fool us to BELIEVE