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Even the scent of rose petals and the slither of a sight of butterfly jars couldn't push the drop of happiness inside my head.
My irises had felt dry, my cheeks sticky with salty tears of pain and suffering. Not a hand on my shoulder remained after he passed.
He was my saviour, my king, my leader. He was my father.
I know his pain had run fast and long, but he was the only one since Barb. I know he's with my mother now, maybe happily dancing, hand in hand, reunited after death.
Why the devil chose me, for I do not know. Maybe he's jealous, maybe he wants me and can't get me.
But as I sit here writing this, I know I'm slowly dying. Pill by pill, tear by tear, I'm dying.
And I know for now, I'm the devil with the cut. The last devil on earth...
-Brian Warner
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