Laughter Of A Demon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Turning a saint into a sinner is another jest for a denizen of Hell.

Submitted: July 10, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 10, 2018



It was just another cold and windy street,


A crossroads where the devil greets,


Buildings border of the bleakest stone,


Full of sinners waiting for a chance to atone,


A corpse is not an unusual sight,


To the demizens of the night,


Long ago they gave up hope,


Strangled by desperation like the noose on a rope,


Some still keep faith,


In this city of wraiths,


Behold a man of virtue,


Whose morals weren't an issue,


Closer than anyone to a saint,


Free from the most common of taints,


Everyed night he would pray,


That his neighbors wouldn't stray,


But tempatation eventually finds him,


Enticing with innocent little whims,


Indulgence of the most tiny kind,


Nothing wrong in his holy mind,


But the seeds are planted and start to grow,


The sin starts to sprout and show,


People close give him another glance,


As if he was pulled into some evil trance,


Soon he buys furs of fox and mink,


Associating with loose women and bottles of drink,


Still he thinks nothing is wrong,


As he takes another hit from his bong,


But even that is an innocent little vice,


Despite his new faults the man is still nice,


Until one night of drink enters into a drunken rage,


He beat his escort and locked her in his dog's cage,


In the morning he found her with tears on her bruised face,


But of last night's memories there wasn't a trace,


Hungover he let her out,


She ran out the door with a fearful shout,


Confused at what he might have done,


Soon it starts to hit him like rays from the sun,


Even though he can't remember,


He knows his morals are now disembered,


Silently he cries,


Remembering the tears in that woman's eyes,


Knowing that was from his hands,


Somehow he finds the will to stand,


Wondering how did this even start,


How did he grow familiar with these sinful arts?


Somewhere the demons chuckle,


Knowing they have him by his belt buckle,


Even aware of his actions he continues,


Paying his unholy dues,


Rage fills his very soul,


One day he just loses control,


Hell follows as he is stuck in his lane,


Yet the devils watch from their own plane,


Tempting the fire of his anger,


To start an inferno to put his soul in dannger,


A man accidently bumps,


The former saint drops his bag with a thump,


It's all too much,


So it began as such,


Words of apology were silenced by vengeful fists,


Logic blinded by primal rage's mist,


The man fell to the ground,


As bloody fists continued to pound,


The forge that was anger fueling the hits,


As each sin by a demon was gleefully writ,


Soon there was no more life,


Extingushed by a fist moving to anger's fife,


The red starts to clear,


The fallen saint looks at the people near,


Mouths agape and eyes wide,


Whispering demons slowly confide,


Another one in the net,


Another one of Hell's quotas so happily met

© Copyright 2020 The Palest Rider. All rights reserved.

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