Hell is Suburbia.

The chain-smoking teenagers, the solemn teenagers with cigarettes that danged over their lower lips in the elegant dance of reaching and lowering and shaking the dead ash off the end.

Smoker’s kiss.

Cigarettes met; ends smoldered.

Smoke sighs exhaling gray smoke from poisoned lungs.

“We’re playing smoke signals,” one of the Goths sighed and tapped his cigarette against the cool glass ashtray, watching burnt give way to lit.

“We’re playing Russian Roulette,” a punk breathed out; her bracelets clinked together in a tribal dance.

“We’re playing children’s games,” the earth-child tapped his cigarette on the edge, watching the revealed smoke go free.

“We’re Heaven and Hell,” the Goth finished, bringing them to a full circle.

Angels and demons hid in Suburbia.

Kiss

Phantom wings, yellowed teeth, taked of smoke on her lips, the sound of music rocking her hips. Seduce, entangle, move and suck dry.

Vampire instincts, leaving dead souls, but living bodies. A corpse’s eyes.

Demon’s eyes.

A victim caught.

She licks cherry red lips and whispers secret, hidden fantasies into his ear.

Demons hid in Suburbia.

Poison

Kisses that tasted like poisoned sugar, bright smiles of decaying innocence. Tuggins and pulling, subtley teasing and dragging towards demice.

Poetic justice in her ironic dance.

Draining the villains of this fairy tale, but leaving the hero sobbing at the edge of the road.

An angelic smile. Demonic demeanor.

Eyes that hid secrets.

A demon shaped like an angel hid in Suburbia.

Love

Black, not his mockery of God, but God’s mockery of him.

Fighting to save hell.

Clinging to hold onto everything he held so tight, holding it against his heart, feeding with his life’s blood.

Crosses, God’s love of man.

Heavy around his neck, a burden he carred with his soul.

Hopeless.

He fought himself as he stood.

He flew. Like a bird. Like an angel.

Another angel died in Suburbia.

Teenagers after teenagers, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Slow, gentle-eyed suicide.