VISUAL PROMPT
Art by Sans @ deviantart.com/Sanskarans

Write a story or poem that could be titled 'Talking with the Devil'
Talking With The Devil
I’ve been talking to the devil,
He’s like a therapist,
I tell him all my troubles,
And he helps me find my wits.
But he’s really so much better,
Than any normal therapist,
I tell him that I’m ugly,
And he tells me that I’m right,
I tell him that I’m sorry,
And he says I’ve lost my mind.
He says he sees himself in me,
And his enemies in my family,
He says to cut them out,
I tell him that I’m skeptical,
That, this will soothe my troubled mind,
He’s asks me if I trust him,
I say, of course, I do,
Now that he thinks about it,
He sees that everyone surrounding me,
Poses a threat to him,
I mean to me,
And that I should consider them,
My enemies,
And so I follow his wise advice,
And cut them all out of my life.
The devil feeds me information,
He helps me see the truth behind the world,
And people’s words,
He helped me see that everything is a cover-up,
For how horrible humans are,
For how disgusting I am,
And for how terribly everyone thinks of me,
Now I really can’t see how I ever trusted any of these dreadful human beings.
The devil says now after getting to know my mind,
That without him, I would die,
From things like loneliness, and self hate,
He told me that he is the only thing that keeps me in one piece,
He says he can see it in the way that he’s the only one that gives me the light of day,
And without him, I’d have no one,
Since I’m so revolting.
I told him that people reach out to me,
So I must be intriguing in some way,
He helped me see the reality,
That people pity me,
And they only reach out because it’s a social obligation that they have learned to follow blindly without thinking if they really even like me.
I really don’t see how people think the devil is bad,
Since I know the devil,
And the devil knows me,
And he is everything but bad,
He is kind to me,
He helps me,
He listens to me,
He’s even said he loves me,
And I said it right back,
Since I would be nothing without the devil who sits at my right.
Me and the devil have become like one,
I agree with all that he says,
We spend so much time together that I trust him implicitly,
He is the _only one_ that cares for me.
But I’m starting to see the cracks in his shiny red armor,
The little things he says that don’t seem to line up,
I try to tell myself that I’m crazy,
But it’s just been me, and the devil on my shoulder for awhile now,
And I’m realizing now that maybe I should’ve been listening to the angel on my left.