Synaesthesia Magazine Seven Deadly Sins - Page 74

The Seven Princes of Hell drinking pomegranate green tea and whiskey mixed in steamy xmas cups depicting Santa chortling

Stirring songs of revolution with imported sugar and reactionary trash Slurring erotic grammars, heathen outpourings of bombastic tongues

Beezlebub, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Leviathan, Satan, Lucifer, Mammon Gluttony,

lust, sloth and vanity, envy, wrath, pride, greed

Lord of the Flies clucking sticky tongue in his land in the East heated by billions of ancient suns

Throwing ashes to an October Mediterranean breeze blinding one of sixty legions under

his command

Ribbit ribbit ribbit

Croaks the toad leading the blind to Inferno

Seeking flies and humming insects labeled malevolent

(to us they are holy)

Each mug brimms with mocha nectar brewed by the Sun hanging over Samaria

stirred by stomach nails and peacock feathers freshly plucked

Giggling to stories of twisted sexual desire, the successful slaying of seven husbands by Modo (Shakespeare can be credited for the nickname)

In the name of spiting The Holy Seven

Those saintly white bastards and their Renaissance magics

Compared to men with itchy feet

I stop my labors, place my pickaxe down by my own itchy feet, being damned for so long brings boredom, to approach the group festering with even more so ancient boredom

“Why are you here?” They laughed, pointing bubbly wart fingers at my withered cheeks

sunk to bone, legs arm-thin, arms thinner, skin sheltering ribs being pulled into canyons with each inhale

“Fear us and be gone! We know your every sin and bastardizing secret. We can tear you to shreds as meat for our drink. Leave us be!”

I stood still looking upon the grotesque

“Is there a God?” I questioned, acting curious

“NO!” they cried happily

“There is nothing to put faith in! Nothing to believe in!” They began laughing again, pouring more whiskey

Something I haven’t tasted in hundreds of years, staring with leviathan at their glasses brim

As they husked long jagged bellows of good temperament, I thought for a moment

“Why should I fear you?” I asked “If there is nothing to believe in, there is no hell.”

I walked straight up to The Seven Princes of Hell and said,

“Fear me, for I have logic and reason.” They, at that moment, vanished.

Whistling, I sauntered towards the nearest bar and bought a drink