A soul is a nebulous thing,
immeasurable,
almost immaterial in today’s world.
The preacher man tries to scare you with it,
tells you it’ll be damned by your sins.
Maybe he’s right.
Or maybe he just wants to ruin all your fun.
I’ll tell you what,
why don’t you let me take that weight off your hands?
You want to have a good time,
I want numbers to take to the boss.
Win-win if you ask me.
It’s not like you have any use for a soul, anyway.
You’ve been hellbound since birth.
Sins of the father,
I’m sure you understand.
Might as well embrace your fate and run with it.
Sell me your soul,
and I’ll make it worth your while.
a demon’s deal [poem]
