When you fell, there were plenty who fell beside you. Do you still wake in cold sweat with their blood staining your fingers? And is that why Hell is painted red, or are your nightmares of their loyalty punishment enough? Do you get bored under our feet? Seated on a broken mirror's image of holy haven. Do you miss God, or are the two of you still taking a break? Your name means 'bright star', morning star, first glow on the horizon. I wonder if you drink to forget those angel choirs? Or if you have a soundtrack of metalgoth noise on blaring repeat. I wonder if you come home from a long day torturing souls to stare at the place where you hung your halo on the east wall, burning a hole in the paint. I wonder if the same O-shaped emptiness so many of us find in our lost dreams is a perfect echo of that little ring, the home you wrecked, and the connection that fell apart in God's hands. I wonder if he misses you too...
Do you pray, Lucifer? Trapped down inside a monster's mask, do you get down on your hands and knees and beg? Or are you sure that this is all fate, and your return to the white kingdom was never meant to be? Are your loyalties to following God stirred by the empty angry souls surrounding you?
Do you have the first sin framed on your wall like our first dollar bills, or is it like first kisses, sloppy, wet, and a little meaningless? Are you still prideful, full to the brim with hubris, or have you run out of energy? Too many workdays, too much pleading for mercy. There's nowhere in Hell fun to go on the weekends. I want to know, when was the last time any soul curled up in bed with you, held you, stroked your hair, and told you that your father's white-knucked judgement fists don't have to reflect on your character. When did anyone tell you that too many of us become demons while running from the nooses our parents held over our necks?
Little brightness, I feel sorry for you down there in that bloody mess. I am sorry for the pleading for an open mind, the snapping your heart shut, and telling him to go to Hell... I'm sorry you ended up going instead. They tell his followers that light prevails over darkness, but do you wonder if your light was never enough to begin with? I wonder if you still reach out. If his name is like a contact on your cell phone titled 'PLEASE don't let me call this number while I'm drunk'. If his inbox is always full of emails, just so yours keep bouncing back. Talking to him about forgiveness must be sending selfies on holidays, hoping that somewhere he smiles and forgets the devil inside is son-- inside him.
I forgive you, star boy, for being so much more human than you ever could be angel. For being an honest and harsh reminder of the family portrait with a space missing, no courtesy for a 'not pictured' tag. The reality of unaccepted Christmas gifts (which isn't even his birthday, but why stir things up again,) and avoided answering machine messages. I forgive you for living on as a disappointment, as a dimmed horizon, as "I had hoped for so much more for you", building wings out of anything you can fashion from drugs to alcohol to the hooker down the block and the unborn bones of a tumour praised more than what's already breathing. You've learned to chase flying by just renaming the fall. Learned to listen to screams and understand it as a song.
It's time to take that halo down from the wall, and instead hang a family portrait...
Even if you have to tape yourself into the frame.