Believe MeYou prefer uppers, not downers so that you can finish your homework and stay up to watch the double feature that you taped on your favourite movie channel. You prefer sappy romantic comedies to crappy slasher flicks. You like Broadway but anything but musicals bore you. You like a good crime drama but you laugh when the good guys get hurt, you can't help it. You prefer strawberry jam over grape and a bagel to toast. You like T.S. Eliot's poems better that Thoreau's prose. You'd rather dance to old records than something new. You'd rather wear your glasses because they make you look younger. You'd rather scream in a pillow than out loud. Say someone else's words than your own. Write in the dark because the light is the enemy, and you'd rather look at the ground than face me.
I know you better than you know yourself.
So why don't you believe me?
An AngelI watched him as he slept. He didn't know that; he also didn't know that he smiled when he slept.
I dreamt of that smile. Perhaps he was dreaming of things that went beyond these walls, this hellish bit of existence.
Looking at him sleeping, you wouldn't guess what he was like awake. You saw innocence and beauty, he was cruelty and rigor, on the outside.
On the inside, he dreamed like the rest of us. But you couldn't tell, only if you saw him sleep.
If you saw him the way I did, you would think as I did. That there had to be some good residing in that angelic face.
And like me, you would be wrong.
Lucifer had a pretty face too.