Synaesthesia Magazine Seven Deadly Sins - Page 75

The Seven Princes of Hell

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

Photograph: Sam Russell

Jeremiah Walton is 18 and lives in New Hampshire where he manages Nostrovia! Poetry, Walking Is Still Honest Press, and is editor for Underground Books' The Kitchen Poet. Jeremiah is the author of Gatsby's Abandoned Children, To Your Health: Humanity's Diagnosis, and LSD Giggles.