The Devil came home today.

Just like everyday, a father returning from work.

With his briefcase of souls, a job well done,

Wearing that same, satisfied smirk.



The doorway seems small when he stands there.

Even if I were to slip by, I'm not sure if I could fit through.

I should ask myself before I even try, though -

If I were to escape The Devil, what would I do?



Just exactly where could I even go?

Which place would let a twisted person like me call it home?

There's a fee at every porch, one that I can't afford.

A handful of forgiveness, a pocket's worth of faith, and for me to atone.



That world just does not belong to me.

I belong in this dusty room, inviting The Devil in.

Taking his jacket for him, hanging it up,

Serving him a supper of my most atrocious sins.



There's no chains restraining me here.

No weight holding me here on my feet.

I'm not trapped in some rotted coffin, decaying,

Buried below, six feet deep.



No, I'm very much alive.

He tells me I'm free to come and go as I please.

Strange to think I'm locked inside The Devil's home,

But only while I'm the one holding the keys.



Sometimes when he sleeps,

I put on his jacket and enter the mortuary.

I play pretend, sometimes even preform his work,

Some days a mortician, others on the river of Styx guiding the Ferry.



When he wakes,

I like to think that he doesn't know that I was there.

In his domain, in his realm,

But the smile in his eyes says he is well aware.



He stands in the doorway again,

The Devil smiles at me once more before he leaves.

His day awaits to determine fates,

Where he will punish all the liars, cheaters, and thieves.



The door closes and I'm left alone,

With nothing but those memories of mine.

Of last night, when I played his part,

And I was certain that like each night before, this would not be the last time.



The Devil will come home again.