Deep in slumber,
something was on my soul,
a terrible feeling.

I woke up angry,
in the middle of the night,
knowing I haven't prayed in a while.

My thoughts jumbled,
not in a right state of mind,
I was taken to a another place.

Another plane,
floating on the river styx,
under the red moon.

Nothing in my life was going right,
I stopped at a small island,
and crawled towards a tree.

It bore fruit,
apples laced with thorns,
cutting my hands.

Watching as my blood dripped,
Mephistopheles appeared,
attempting to woo me.

He wanted to dance,
curse god,
and ask why I was born.

A parasite feeding off of pain,
the master of manipulation,
but he couldn't tempt me.

I wouldn’t give him my hand,
I wouldn't dance,
swaying with the devil under the red moon.

Disguised as a woman,
singing hymns of a tortured soul,
trying to match my frequency.

Catching my tears in her goblet,
drinking my fears and regrets,
using my anger to rebuke god.

Young a dumb,
my guard began to fall,
crumbling like olympus.

She gestured behind the tree,
a sword carved from sulfur,
embellished with my name.

Ready for me to wield,
to turn it upon myself,
halting my suffering.

Until my tears stopped,
and the sky cracked,
revealing a holy hand.

Pulling my limp body upwards,
blowing life into my dead soul,
I wasn't meant to die.

My life wasn't mine to take,
my soul didn’t belong to Mephistopheles,
wallowing in the dank cracks of hell.

Putrid and foul,
it was not my destined fate,
a crown was placed above my head.

“save yourself” I heard,
and “believe only in me,”
“others have been down the same path.”

I wouldn’t give him my hand,
I wouldn't dance,
swaying with the devil under the red moon.