Satan Wears Ladies’ Boots

Satan Wears Ladies’ Boots

I woke up this morning
And had a hearty breakfast
Of fried souls
Dipped in ox blood

My vulture alarm woke me
At just the right time
And by the time I got out
My denizens were doing my bidding

I held my mug by the handle
Tipped it to taste
Mocha magma
Brewed from the River Styx

I closed the door to my cavern
Behind me as I stepped out
The newspaper already laying
Beside the brimstone sidewalk

Hell’s highway was nice and
Sparse of Dragulas
At this time in the

Just the muffled sounds of
Dragons breathing
Fading in and out
In the distance

I stretched my legs
Got the paper
And re-entered my home
Dressed in a pink robe

My shower was the best
Five thousand degrees
Spraying onto my face
I didn’t let digress

I lathered with my axe
Rinsed with my sponge
Toweled off quickly
And dried my buns

To be toasted
And buttered for flavor
I had them with my magma
The taste is so perplexing

Then I rode to work
On my three headed dog
The commute wasn’t bad
Except dodging angels that fall

I sat down at my desk
With my obsidian papers
Said hello to my employees
At Satan’s Best Bakery

There we bake pies
Cakes, and lies
Danishes and pastries
Of all kinds

And when the day was done
I went back home to have fun
Then I took off my boots
And got into bed

To have some nightmares
And start again

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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