Satan has nothing on me.

Take me to church
We can play with creation
Make me your god with the right reservations
His trim and beautiful body laid out on the floor,
Chest rising and falling, impressively still alive.

I watch silently from the door,
The voices are calling.
Whispers in these ears,
Eyes glazed in a trance,
He couldn’t find my fears,
With a mastochistic dance.

I was never a soldier but the art of war so familiar to my fingertips.

I have flirted with fear, made it my collared bitch.

The heart beat pulsing through my eyes. I enjoyed it all too well.

He looks at the world through ragged eyes,
He gazes lovingly up at me,
His daily façade a disguise,

His obedience runs deep,
Moments of agony are memories to keep

I became the god of his hell.

And satan has nothing on me.