You see, the devilās genius isnāt the whip or the flame. Itās the banality . Hell is a room with no windows and one door that opens onto an identical room. Hell is a mirror that shows you not fangs or horns, but your own faceāslightly older, slightly emptierāstaring back with the patience of a spider.
I remember the day I sold the last piece of my soul. It wasnāt to a demon in a red cloak. It was to a man in a gray suit who said, āEveryone does it. Itās just business.ā And I believed him. Not because he was persuasiveābut because I was tired . Tired of fighting. Tired of being the one who said no. Tired of caring when no one else did. a taste of hell declamation piece
They told me hell was fire. Brimstone. A furnace where the damned scream forever. But I have tasted it now. And fire? Fire would be a mercy. You see, the devilās genius isnāt the whip or the flame
Donāt wait for the fire, my friend. The fire is a lie. The taste is already in your mouth. Spit it out. Now. Hell is a mirror that shows you not
But tomorrow never comes. Because in hell, there is only now . And now, I am thirsty. Not for water. For the tears I forgot how to cry.