Hell.

Hell is not a fiery red lake of flames, blistering heat,

And ghoulish faces laughing at unending torture;

It is not a dark, seedy underworld where the sound of death metal can be heard

And where one salutes each moment with pleads of mercy;

Hell is, instead,

A cold, pale place where air hits electrical currents to your touch,

And lips crack and flake as does each slow moving, drab day

Where dreams are deemed dreams because

Reality is a practical life sentence of boredom and necessity,

Where one quenches their thirst with expensive vodka shots

And numbs themselves with reality tv

Where life as do friends, pass you by if you’re not at your best,

And family come around at their convenience,

And moments of despair are daggered by sharp sarcasm

And you’re weak or crazy if you cry about it.

Hell is a sterile environment where everyone looks the same

Transcending race, gender, occupation, style

Reaching for that inexplicable

Begging for mercy by way of money, acceptance, or a reservation to Heaven.

Hell is a very cold place traveled to by those who

Choose to do more than stop by.  Its got a stronghold on those who,

If not careful,

Mistaken themselves for dead and accept it.

Hell is a temporary spot…a waiting room, if you will,

Where well-intentioned loved ones, advertisements,

And even one’s God of preference,

Threaten to drown out the voice of your soul. 

If you realize that you are built to withstand any storm,

You will already have become that much stronger

And you’ll see the light isn’t that far from your journey.