Life's not easy when you manage Hell.

Horses, clip clop, upon bloodied floor,
Impatient at hell's imblazened door,
With a cold white hand, Fallen grasps the gate,
Irritated, that once again, his Hell Horses were late.

Once again he paced in front of their team,
Asking, yet again, what their lateness should mean
And one by one they told him and alibi,
So he cursed their names- 'Hell spawn, I know you lie!'

He sent them to their stables, and off they flew,
Then went to his palace, while threatening to sue,
The man who'd sold him him these cursed* steeds,
Who apparently was due inHell for his damned* deeds.

* Pronounce the 'e' to make the word have to syllables.

Fallen sat in his throne, while his Queen made tea,
The she told him bad news- she'd lost the key.
'Again?' He cried, 'The key to the gates?' then he began to sob,
His Queen then nodded. He would surely lose his job.

His Queen then sat down, and called in his friend,
Another bad angel, but one which you could depend,
Or so Fallen thought- his wife was filing for divorce.
'Why?' he asked, then Fallen saw. The friend, of course.

Fallen began to cry, then smelt something funny.
Not burning flesh, or sin, nor black handed money.
It was something almost intangible, impossible to see.
Then he realized. It was the sympathy and tea.

The tea had caught fire and the palace was alight.
The golden castle an inferno, which gave the poor Fallen a fright.
He was so close to a breakdown- he gave a small yelp.
His clothes were on fire and he needed professional help.

Six months later, Fallen was waiting outside,
a psychiatrists room, the only one who'd replied.
To his dreary call, for someone to talk over his fears,
Of tea, horses, keys and the wife of all those years.

The psychiatrist sat him down and offered some tea.
Fallen replied 'no, thank you', and began to plea,
He wanted his job back, he wanted to replace his keys,
He wanted to get an education, for his mam would be pleased.

He had so many hopes, and did not realize till too late,
That this psychiatrist was a cursed card of fate.
This man used to be a salesman, who sold horses of hell,
Then, after too many customer complaints, decided to rebel.

The Fallen threatened to sue, threatened certain death,
But had to, now being mortal, draw in one shaky breath,
That was time enough for the salesman now free,
To take out a cup with saucer, and offer 'Tea?'