the difference between good and evil

is between those thin line - you know the ones invisible you can not walk through it while in your best behavior, best suit, best cheeky grin, best twinkle in the eyes because the lines that burn like acid: they're already grappling at that lub dub, then the beat goes irregular just not that flesh is able to shed light on the clanking machines trying to decipher this pound of flesh quite unlike an actual measurement of fairness. yeah - the hell bill is so very high, no one is alarmed for they are all out marching in parades of pretense. each one of them wearing a mask called converted. the new religion. it hums in the air like an aeroplane about to take off; takes off louder than lub dub echoing from the other dimension. can't touch this says the machine then goes to sleep. hell's bill takes a dive, trying to go deep flesh fishing but the gods wouldn't have it. not this time mr. condescending when the parade is still out there good honest work! obviously those charlatans need some rude awakening, this is not the time to do it, the angel mens rea executed what had previously been a jolly meaningful time with his boss who has slightly improvised this line that is quietly stealing souls from millions still bent on being the best parader since it was the world. world. such a rich place, feasting daily on free will, giving another pound to the evil who has decided to change the first alphabet to something less repulsive. after all who wants to burn in fire? thus fire itself became flesh, all those huge lumps - with a bone thrown in. to the lines easily munching away to become solid highways for those interested to go on the fast lane. it's all about how one goes to persuade. it was never too far fetch - to throw an ever bigger smoke screen. what a fine parade! then it becomes the next pursuit. how satisfying, how effusive the devil went out all night: a long night that stretched against the wider boundaries squashing thick lines no longer thick. now the thin multiplied, like piglets running wild like birds cawing at nothing. just a false alarm, then silence. cold silence that lasted eons, though it was a dot on the map; splatters of splat falling on the windscreen no longer clear. the devil meets his match as two rams lock horns, really went at it, it evaporated and became water denser than my thickest thoughts: swimming about in a either or, almost never a have to and then i became that ram unable to break free from horns not mine. whoosh! i fell into a parade unable to come out of the stronghold, i frantically ran to more of my same face wearing a cheeky grin, twinkle in the stars like my eyes gone so wild i thought i had grown an extra limb extending to the god's mind pushing me away hurriedly, you stink. of course i do not. i was bent on agreeing with that voice and simply complying - but i have grown used to the march, the beat, the sound of stomping foot vibrates the bones keeping my will intact. i will try harder. next time. there will always be a next time. meanwhile so much was happening in that space of feeders of the parade, the odd angel who never quite fitted in still coming up with a better tail, wagging, hard to be angry with someone trying so hard - i broke up in laughter when i realized it was just the microphone really loud whose voice had gone off and a technician needs to switch out those tapes that have gotten moldy a long time ago. it's all backwards! it's all backwards.