What's Up With Satan?

In the dark black underbelly of Hell,

Satan sat on his throne of fire,

The palms of his scaly arms

Nesting his rugged cheeks,

His scraggy horns seemingly

Melting into the thick shroud

Of the fiery mist that surrounded him,

The cruel hot blustery winds that blew,

Leaving bubbling blisters on the long-rotten

Skins of the inmates of the place,

The billion servants and slaves

Of the Prince of Darkness

Speaking in fierce tongues,

Trying to seek the attention of their Lord,

But nothing seemed to get through

To the lonesome Devil,

Who could not seem to put his fingers

On this new feeling that rippled

Inside his soulless body -

The Devil had fallen in love.

- NaPoWriMo, Day 5