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the angel lucifer's diary entry on the day he fell

by basil aurelian

i wake. sometimes, i even open my eyes. heaven is so blurry beyond my eyelashes, i must pluck them out. there. now nothing can obscure me.

leave the tweezers on the bathroom counter and the lashes in the sink; wishes cast off my cheeks and thrown with pennies

into watery basins. i am lashless. i am lashing

out at my father, who’s a liar. i hadn’t figured that out yet but

now that my sight isn’t so blurry, i can see his silhouette

against the gold foil background that sparks red when lies are told. litmus test. he’s

got his staff in hand and walks about like this star and that

galaxy were made by him. what happened to the honesty, the sanctity, of craftsmanship? i want to take credit for my work, but his name

is so Big. i must retreat.

ah, but doesn’t it sting? something pulling at my wings, stronger than the event horizon my siblings came up with. i can’t

live like this. lies are lies. falsity is heaven’s black market drug,

taken in small doses ‘till you’re addicted, and then you’re gone.

spend every piece of grace you own on slippery ends of tales, sown by others: second, third, and fourth-hand stories passed around

like a joint. i do not partake. the taste of a lie leaves me unwell.

i shall confront him, i think.


Basil Aurelian is often found at their desk writing poetry, or drawing, or perhaps just procrastinating both by choosing to fall down a wikipedia rabbit hole. Sometimes they wake up from a dream of mad hatters long enough to finish a poem! They can be found on Instagram: @basil.aurelian


Image by Bree Anne
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