Blood Pact.
There are many levels of hell even here on Earth
Hell is the absence of all of the things you love most
When light no longer
rose to kiss me
my lips ached in the
shadows of
demons wings,
brushing against
my trembling skin
for I had sold
my soul for fame
with my music,
and the devil had
at long last
claimed his due. Mine was a
magnificent
voice given
that I did not know
I would die for,
after the contract
was signed. But the brilliance
of inspiration
abandoned me,
leaving me with
nothing I could sing. Others music
was just sandpaper,
raw and scratchy
in my throat.
Only my own
soulful lyrics
and the haunting melodies
of my fondest dreams
would woo the masses. But I had
sold my soul,
for a perfect set
of vocal chords
that now
could barely hum
the harmonies
of my despair.
At the pinnacle
of my fame
I found myself
timbling into obscutiry
So I slit my throat
in a moment of angst,
angry at its inadequacies
I severed it,
not aware that... Far below
the devil prepared a
vast amphitheater for me
to spend eternity
singing in.
but I no longer had
perfect pitch
and astounding vocals in that hellish place
where I was left
to badly entertain
the thousands
of damned music lovers
who were left deaf,
their eyes pleading
for a single note
of hope amidst
endless despair
that my pitiful voice
could not answer.
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III