Wednesday Words: He Descended Into Hell
bloated, audacity, daring, hazy, highway, cornea, lavender, criminal, wistful, nap, predictable
\\ The highway to hell is paved with good intent, And you’ll descend propelled by others’ corroded desires and malcontent. They tried to change you, but you weren’t malleable enough, not weak enough for them, though you tried to be what they wanted. You tried, and for that you’re condemned, descending slowly into the earth’s molten core - slowly enough to feel the burn of every foot fall Followed by the echoes of they who doomed you, spoken with great audacity, as they dare to place their crimes at your feet: ‘This is your fault; I would never hurt you; you’re so arrogant; you think you are perfect; you’ve made an outcast of me; you never tried, never loved me.’ Their words are fuel to the flame, lighting a match and tossing it down with you. You imagine them standing above you, bloated with their pride and self-import, blinded by willful ignorance- their corneas growing hazy as lust spreads as cataracts leaving behind a film to distort their perception. Now, you touch your own eyes wondering if you, too, have grown blind. Weren’t you also willfully ignorant? Propelled by the wistful longing of a child to be loved, longing to be held and comforted, you accepted any touch no matter how cruel. They were predictable and you a fool. And now - a criminal, tried in the courts of greed and despair, condemned by a jury of their malice metamorphosed into your own self loathing Turns out - you can please everyone. The gods, the devil, and man all agree your punishment is most pleasing, and they drag you down like a child pulled from its favorite toy, compelled to nap instead by a stern and forceful parental hand. Perhaps you can find solace this eternal sleep. Perhaps the nightmares will show you mercy. The flames rise to meet you dancing in a rhythmic rise and fall like puppets on a string. If you squint, you could almost convince your eyes to blend the blue and white core of the fire with the outer ring of crimson painting your vision lavender, the shade of peace. And in this way you welcome death’s embrace It really was a beautiful life, you think, maybe you can make death so, too. Perhaps hell, like its roads, harbors good intent. Perhaps hell can save you. Purposeful delusion has a way of numbing pain, so this is the thought to which you cling as you step at last into the flames //
This poem is from last week’s Word Prompt Wednesday, an interactive poetry endeavor I host weekly on my Instagram. If you would like to give me random words to use in my next poem, head over to my stories on Wednesday mornings