The Devil of the Daily

It isn’t the beast in the feast of abomination

that breaks us—

not the shadowed sins dressed in revelation, but

the gnawing grin of repetition,

the dull blade of distraction,

the tik-tok traction

and over reactions to fashion

and bureaucracy

dragging us through the dock of mediocrity.

* * *

We fear the fire,

the brimstone choir,

the preacher in the pulpit with secret desires —

but it’s not the pyre that swallows us whole,

it’s the doom scrolling

with its endless toll of

“just get through this day, just one more round, one more minute, one more soul-crushing task.”

We mask monotony like it’s mercy,

but it’s a slow bleed surgery.

A drip feed of urgency in trivial tyranny—

emails, deadlines, traffic lines,

Netflix rewinds,

a thousand tiny nothings that knot the spine of growth and success,

while passion rots,

while vision’s lost in the lack of stress.

* * *

Sin with teeth at least has heat,

you meet it, you fight it, you fall or rise.

But the bland gray skies of the nine-to-five disguise

their poison as normal.

Abomination roars—

but distraction whispers.

And it’s the whisper that wins.

* * *

The mundane is malignant,

it steals significance in increments until

your heart beats bent,

till your spirit has been spent,

and you forget you ever dreamt.

* * *

So slam or sermon,

damn the dull that hijacks purpose,

that makes meaning worthless and

resurfaces in Oz,

pulling strings behind the curtain.

And damn the small sacrifices—

the compliance to simple devices

stacked so tall

they wall off wonder.

* * *

Because the true evil isn’t obvious—

it’s the office hum,

the broken drum of routine

that smothers the unseen.

The devil doesn’t need to tempt you

with catastrophe.

He just needs you busy.

He just needs you bored.

* * *

And so you wage a war against yourself—

wasting your roar, your gift,

for the pleasures

of hell.