The Contract

Hell is empty.
I see now,
Every demon - every plague
residing on this mortal Earth,
And Satan! Bend my will to his,
For the turmoil of this soul
is the resonating emptiness -
This endless undénouement.

Faustus,
Hell is here, where we are.
Your self-inflicted cut serves
only to remind of your contract,
Already in place.

Friend,
Let me climb into my grave
and in my doing so,
I pray
that I might show you
the shallowness of your own.