Revenge for the Devil

By Nelson Alvarez De La Campa

The poems in this anthology of poetry are heartfelt, dealing with matters of love, loss, grief, and other common universal emotions. Also included is a romantic-horror short story unlike any you've read before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496965912

Nelson Alvarez De La Campa

Nelson Alvarez De La Campa was born in Queens, New York. He is first-generation Spanish Cuban American. His other works include “Ravage My Soul,” a poetry anthology and short story. He now resides in Miami, Florida, where he performs spoken word poetry at various open mics.

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© 2015 Nelson Alvarez De La Campa. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/21/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6592-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6591-2 (e)

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Contents

Sunshine

The Dead

Cellophane

A Part of Living

Dying For You

Dead Fingers

Raining In My Heart

Own the Sky

Dream a Good One

Pulling Heaven Down (Immortality)

God Is Dead

Welcome to Heaven

Yeah You Can Say/Because for you I fall

Oh Sugar (11:11)

You’re Gone, It’s Gone (Sunshine Pt. 2)

Can’t You See (I digress)

The Darkness (Tell Me It’s True)

Patiently Making No Sound

All Alone

Beginning to End

A New Kind of Light

Honeymoon

Hearts Skipping Beats (For Always)

Stay Forever

The Sky Has Fallen

Airplanes (My Bleeding Heart)

Never Let Go

Searching for a Way

So I

Return of the Magician and the Queen

Endlessly

A God that Circles the World

Silence Me My Love

I Pray It Never Ends

This Love Is a Dangerous Thing

Be A Hero

If I Wrote

As We Fall

Your Splendor

Keep it Inside

Say Anything to Extinguish the Flames

I’m Lost (angel)

Forget Yourself (little things)

Dedicated To Maripaz Olvina. RIP

Always my sunshine.

Always in my heart.

REVENGE FOR THE DEVIL

I never thought I’d be running through hell with only one arm; fleeing the demons that get off on torturing the souls of the damned. Let’s clear one thing up, they don’t carry around little pitchforks. They prefer tools that can cause more damage, like a hatchet or a sharp blade or two.

As I run madly, I get a whiff of the oceans filled with vomit, bile, and the blood leaked out of the tortured. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a way out. You see, Dante was wrong. Hell isn’t composed of circles or layers. It’s a vast realm filled with evil incarnate. The sky is always pitch black. The ground is dark red and rocky, littered with trash and razorblades. It’s a place that deserves to be void of all life. In a way it is. And in another way, it isn’t.

By now I’ve realized that I’m running in circles. I passed Hitler being crucified for the second time. I’m feeling weak, hot, and tired. One thing they got right: it’s really hot in hell. Worse than Arizona in July, believe me.

My stub is throbbing, and I remember vaguely when they cut off my arm. They drugged me, paralyzed my body so I couldn’t fight back. The one thing I remember most is the sound of the knife hitting into the bone. And the pain was excruciating, as only one can imagine. It was one of my punishments for trying to rescue her. And for trying to kill the Devil.

Wait, let me back it up a little bit. I should start at the beginning. Or at least, the beginning of the end.

Her name was Violet Rose and she was the love of my life. I have never loved anyone like the way I loved her, with all my heart. With all my soul. I could stare into her blue eyes like the skies above, and get lost in them never wanting to be found.

I met her in drug rehab. An interesting place for a love to flourish. The moment I saw her there my heart skipped a beat or two and that’s when I knew I was in love. When we first exchanged words, and I heard her angelic voice, I was certain. She was my soul mate. Though hers was one of wonder and light, and it faintly glimmered in her irises even at night.

I remember the first night we slept together, our lips pressed against each other’s; our bodies becoming one, a feeling I imagine heaven would feel like. I don’t think we’ll ever find out. Not while we’re rotting in hell.

I remember her tattoo, sprawled against her heavenly back. Her perfect torso laid out before me to see. Heaven and Hell inked onto her back. On her right shoulder blade, shaded dark blue, meandering down the curve of her body: angels and light. On her left shoulder blade, dark red, blood red that breathes, following down the curve of her body: demons and darkness. Heaven and Hell between her shoulder blades. Publius Ostorius Scapula. And between them her spine. Inside her heart and soul. At least now I know we all have one.

Inside her I felt heaven. A soul so bright.

Now I’m searching for her in the