Hadean

You come to the door with your 

bag of tricks, impressive and 

promising, trying to coax me with 

your viles and bottles, 

and sometimes you succeed. 

Today I swallowed your cough 

syrup without any sugar, then 

choked on your disease while 

you eagerly watched on. You 

work as the Devil's apothecary

and you prescribe my destruction 

with a stained smile breaking 

your hardened face, made of 

clay and paint, moulded after 

your master. You have his voice. 

To your credit, your deception 

was quite veiled, behind a fit 

of self-pity and guilt--I almost 

deemed you innocent, until the 

glint in your eye caught mine 

as the spoon came off of my 

lead tongue and when your  

smile turned wry, I knew I'd 

made a mistake. So as I purge 

your poison from my body I 

pray to remember this moment, 

so when you come knocking again, 

with your medicine in hand, 

I'll know to slam the proverbial 

door in your houndish face.