The Most Sinful

She waits in silks, not chains or flame,
A whisper dressed in beauty’s name.
No storm, no scream, no cruel disguise
Just honeyed words and hollow eyes.

They touched with lies, they kissed with spite,
They fed on love and called it right.
But every wound they carved for fun
Is counted now, weighed one by one.

And when they fall into her lair,
The touch they stole is waiting there.
No light, no love, no more control
Just Lust reclaiming every soul.

Their eyes are gone, not closed, but claimed,
By hands they mocked, by names they shamed.
The gaze they used to lure and cheat
Now blinds them in this silk deceit.

No moans of pleasure, only screams.
No stolen nights, just haunted dreams.
They’re touched by echoes, kissed by pain,
Each act returned, again… again.

And as they writhe in scented air,
The demon watches, still and fair.
No rage. No chains. Just perfect role
For Lust has come to take her toll.

They drift, not bound by chain or flame,
But lost to time they never claim.
Their dreams dissolve like ash in air,
Too dull to fight, too cold to care.

They speak in yawns, in vacant stares,
They watch the world and say no prayers.
The fire that once could burn the skies,
Now sleeps beneath unblinking eyes.

They let their flame of purpose die,
While Sloth watched on with lidded eye.
Each dream they drowned in soft excuse
Now feeds the chains he wraps like noose.

Now down they sink, too weak to flee,
In rivers choked with apathy.
Their limbs are limp, their voices still,
Devoured whole by lack of will.

No demon strikes, no lashes tear,
Just drowning slow in stagnant air.
They beg to move, to rise, to cry,
But Sloth ensures they only lie.

And on his throne, the demon sits,
In veins of sloth and pulsing pits.
He feeds on all they did not do,
Their wasted fire, their fate, their due.

He sits atop a throne of thirst,
Where every gift becomes a curse.
His crown is carved from stolen breath,
His robe is stitched with silent death.

No flame, no fang, no bloody roar,
Just eyes that ask for always more.
He speaks in deals too sweet to doubt,
And builds his kingdom hollowed out.

A smile of wealth, a soul of rust,
He turns all grace to ash and dust.
Desire bends beneath his weight,
While Greed decides your final fate.

He sits on gold, yet starves for more,
A king of want with heart so poor.
No gift he takes is ever whole,
He bites the fruit, then swallows soul.

He deals in hunger, masks it well,
With smiles that hide the scent of hell.
He'd trade your trust for fleeting gain,
Then drain your joy to line his chain.

And when the scales at last collapse,
Their worthless hoards can't fill the gaps.
Now caged inside what they pursued,
They rot in gold they can't undo.

He sits where fire forgets to fade,
A beast the burning stars once made.
His throne is built from blades and screams,
A graveyard forged from broken dreams.

No calm can cross his molten skin,
No plea survives the storm within.
He is the howl when justice dies,
The blood that answers mercy's cries.

They named him Wrath, and turned away,
But fury kept the world in play.
He does not rule with crown or chain,
He rules through scars, and searing pain.

The ones who struck with bitter hands,
Who burned their ties and scorched the land,
Now thrash inside a cage of spears,
Built by their fury, fed by fears.

Their screams return as sharpened sound,
Each echo dragging deeper down.
They’re stabbed by every word they hurled,
And crushed beneath their own burned world.

No mercy here, no peace to find,
Just endless war within the mind.
For wrathful hearts that chose to kill,
Are doomed to fight their anger still.

She once stood high, above them all
Then learned how far the proud can fall.
Now crowned in gold she did not crave,
She rules the weak she could not save.

No wrath, no fire within her throne
Just silence carved in polished stone.
She does not scream, she does not plead,
She simply shows what ego breeds.

A gaze that sees the cracks you hide,
A smile that cuts from deep inside.
She speaks your name, then steps aside
And lets you drown in all your pride.

They carve themselves from lifeless stone,
A self they swore was theirs alone.
Each stroke a wound, each edge a lie
A shape that mocks what lived inside.

No flame consumes, no chains confine,
Just echoes of the grand design.
They chase a face they’ll never see,
Their pride now bound in effigy.

And if they pause, if hands grow weak
The lash will strike where shadows speak.
Till all that's left is dust and dread,
A perfect form where none have bled.

She sits in shadows draped in gold,
In stolen dreams and truths she sold.
Her eyes reflect what others own
A mirror queen upon her throne.

She speaks in sighs, not bitter cries,
And plants regret where wonder dies.
She shows you all you dared to crave,
Then waits as you become her slave.

She does not strike, she lets you see
The lives you wished your own could be.
And as you break to chase their gleam,
She drinks your hope and calls it “dream.”

They kneel before enchanted glass,
Where others’ lives in splendor pass.
Each mirror shows what isn’t theirs
A crown of doubt, a throne of stares.

They claw and weep, yet can’t look down,
Their hunger tied in thorns and gown.
For every wish to take, not grow,
Their fading self is all they know.

She walks among them, calm, amused,
A judge of those who once accused.
The more they want, the less they see
Now bound by envy, endlessly.

He looms where hunger lost its name,
Where want and need are not the same.
No joy, no taste, no sacred meal
Just craving that forgets to feel.

A beast once bound in mortal skin,
Now judge of those who fed on sin.
He counts each bite beyond the need,
Each feast that bloomed from bloated greed.

Not hunger’s child, but glutton born,
A god of excess, not of corn.
He comes when fullness turns to rot
And serves the debt their mouths forgot.

They gorged on more than life could give,
So now they eat and cease to live.
No hunger left, no joy, no taste,
Just hands that serve, and mouths that waste.

The demons grin with bloated pride,
They press the food souls can't deny.
Each feast, a curse they can't reject,
Their stomachs swell, their spirits wrecked.

The more they ate, the more they lost
Now fed forever at the cost
Of choking on the very sin
That carved the cage they’re trapped within.

He waits beyond the final gate,
Where sinners crawl, and demons wait.
The seven scourges mark their skin
Then he decides where they begin.

He speaks of grace, of second breath,
But winds the path that leads to death.
A king of flame, with voice of stars,
He brands the soul with silent scars.

The brighter path, the sweeter lie
For higher climbs bring harder cries.
He does not rage, he does not warn
He sends them back, to be reborn.

They kneel before the throne of flame, Not seeking mercy, not naming blame.

This is not Heaven. This is not Hell. This is the place where judgment fell.

Lucifer sits, not cruel nor kind. A sentinel of the fractured mind.

No tyrant’s hand, no wrathful cry, Just truth that burns behind the eye.

He marks the soul, both meek and proud, Not for their prayers, but what they’ve vowed.

In every act, both loud and small, They shaped the height from which they’ll fall.

You do not rise for gold or grace, But for the love you gave your place.

You do not fall for faith denied, But for the truth your heart belied.

A prince may wake in mud and dust, A poor reborn with loyal trust.

A beggar’s path may climb the stars, While kings return with deeper scars.

The path is curved, the climb unsure, For kindness weakens when made pure.

The ones who start from high above, May never learn what means to love.

And thus, the cycle turns again, Of joy and loss, of guilt and gain.

Not to torment, not for pain, But for the soul’s expanding flame.

You are not judged by gods on high, You are the god who learns to die.

Each soul a shard of one great light, Split through time to gain new sight.

The One became the countless many, To walk as none, yet know as any.

To feel the hunger, wear the chain, To hold the blade, and bear the pain.

And through each life, and every face, We teach the Whole through time and space.

For what is god, if not all hearts, Each playing one of endless parts?

Lucifer knows, and so he waits, He opens doors, but not the fates.

He sends you not to peace or fire, But to the truth your acts require.

For life is not a curse or prize, But lessons worn in mortal guise.

The final mark is not the end, It is the loop through which we mend.

So kneel not down in shame or pride, But meet his gaze with eyes open wide.

For through your pain and joy and strife, You are the god who walks through life.