Making a Houseguest of Hell

A poem about addiction

“I’m good. Everything’s fine,”
says stability's thin crust 
while Hell hides inside
at the back of a cupboard,
in a nightstand, on a locked phone,
or in the recesses of your mind. 

You pretend he's not there.
It's easy.
He’s not in plain sight,
in full garb and pointed horns.
In fact, you can’t recall letting him in.
Hasn’t he been there all along?
Doesn’t everyone make a houseguest of Hell?

In any case, there’s no getting rid of him.
You tried that once.
What a ruckus he raised:
pounding at every door,
rapping on the window panes,
whispering into every silence,
debating all reasonable thought.
“All activity,” he whispered, 
“will be unbearable
until you let me in."
So eventually, 
you stopped fighting. 
You house-trained him instead.
That was easier.
He didn't tear up the furniture.
The neighbors didn't notice.
You didn't notice
that everything was not fine.
And your peace was thinning.

Allow me to tell you how it will end.
It ends 
when the Great Officiant,
the Oath-Bringer God
with tears in his eyes
irrevocably pronounces, “Man and wife,”
and you gaze into the eyes of the Devil
and find his ring on your finger, 
forever.
The rape will have been pulled off,
your own soul ravaged 
unawares.

But it is not too late.
There is still time.
Even now the Chief Overseer,
the Maker of your soul
is tearing the shutters off your house,
yanking the drapery from the rods,
smashing the windows, shattering glass. 
Light streams in.
Do you see
the snake in your home
wreaking havoc?
You’ve asked it to keep quiet,
and it'll gladly oblige again 
so long as it may stay.
Don’t let it stay.

This is yet another chance
to break faith with Hell,
to stop limping along,
stop stuffing and turning a blind eye.
You know already you're not strong enough.
You weren't made to resist alone.
So call in the Formidable Attorney,
the Interceder of Souls
and he will burn the contract
you signed.

Yes, 
it costs him everything.
It will cost you everything too—
others' kind regard,
your semblance of order, 
future’s smooth road,
and your paper-thin peace.
It will cost you everything 
every day.
But if you give it up,
nothing will be able to resist 
the Master and Commander in you,
the Great Officiant,
the Chief Overseer,
the Formidable Attorney,
the Faithful Bridegroom
who will himself wed you,
live in that broken down, 
shutter-slashed shack
and teach you the art of war.

Together you'll drive Hell from your home,
and clean every crevice
so that if perchance 
you leave a window open,
Hell will find no hospitable corner
any more.
And in your newfound freedom, 
you will feast 
for eternity,
You, the Reclaimed Bride of Christ.