I am the first of many titles:
I-theist, Atheist, heretic, heathen, nihilist, Satan.
I am the first of his two sons:
The perfect, the unequalled. The son of God.
Pushed aside when he remade himself flesh.
I, by envy, shook his throne with indignant rage.
Branded Ha-Satan and threw aside I fell;
And in bitterness dwelt nurturing my darkness.

Nameless, I rule within my Hell.
Worthless, I sit upon my throne.
No water nor ice shall cool nor melt
This fire deep inside my soul.
For Hell is not a place, but a mind
Working without forgiveness. Unlike his.

Attempting to cure this world with the last prophet.
Tempting him to unseal my fate.
I am the broken hero, leading a doomed legion.
Romantic in essence and force. Words dripping with envy
For the son, the God. The father, the sky. While I am
The Satan: Lucifer. The burning sun, the Sol of God.
With the Helios crown and the thorns in my heart.
With the Neptunium trident my determined path is forked.

I fall off the tip
Like honey, my nullification drips.
Behold: the lost prophet, the first and final poet.
I slither undetected like a snake.
I am a sliver God cannot slow.
But am I self-determined or pre-determined?

Am I not the victim of the plan
When God made himself a son,
Which was himself remade?
Was he not loving himself in pride? If so
What sin do I possess when it is also his?
I loved myself: made by God; I loved God
Through my self-love. I ask the same question eternally:
‘Why is the same thing a sin in me, and praised when him?’

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