by Nick Gisburne
I’m He. Hello. Be sure you cannot hide.
I know the tricks, the tunnels humans take.
Remember what you whispered when you died.
Your promise is a pledge you cannot shake.
You sold your soul to liberate the pain,
To snatch the sting of suffering away.
Permit me, with my pleasure, to explain
The meaning of your words, and what they say.
“I’d sell my soul,” you feverishly wished,
“To amputate the agony I feel.”
Compassionate, I dutifully fished
For blissful anaesthesia, to heal.
The bargain is as simple as it seems:
A moment, for your cold, eternal screams.
