Feed the Devil

I’d feed it to the debt.

To the beast that sits sullenly on my chest.

To the monster grinding me to ash.

To the freedom that never existed.

Just another dime.

Just another dollar.

Just another thing to add to my dusty, useless collection.

I’d buy back my soul from the corporate devil.

I’d laugh in the Joneses' faces as I sold off every last scrap of garbage cluttering the nooks and crannies of my life.

And if there was anything left,

I’d buy that little cabin in the woods.

I’d sit in the solitude of escaping the race of rats.

I’d breathe in the important.

The little laughs.

The mud between the toes.

The growing people, growing things marching in the whisper of quiet days gone by.

I’d swallow down gulps of the essence of life, until I was bursting full, ready to wither in silent contentment.

But who am I kidding?

A windfall doesn’t do much when you need a hurricane.

I’d feed it to the monster, the corporate devil, the debt.

And when I had,

It’d still be hungry

For more.