The Cold-Shouldered Devil

This is the first in a very serious series about deep life issues in a faux-shakespearean voice. 

The Cold-Shouldered Devil

And what, Frost Demon, is this villainous treachery?

Hast thou not debauched enough our great debt?

Run willingly through this whorehouse as gold flows

From thine pockets and is accost from mine?

After all the kind words that grace from my lips,

Petitioning against such travesties,

You leave few ways to rectify the shattered moral agreement.

Once again you embody the bane of mine existence

As you burst forth the winter's chill 

When a summer song should suffice!

Have you no understanding how this function doth bereave my soul?

You demons of winter's light have never known 

What it is to suffer from the mortal toil of chill!

My spindled fingers must thrust deep into the earth 

Searching for any drop of warmth to sooth my iced skeleton.

For how, Cold-Shouldered Devil, can you expect peace

When you impose an ice age that seems unending?

I beseech thee now, reconcile the frigid wind:

Breathe once again the warm air of life and sustenance

For you are my arm and my eyes and my voice.

Yet this villainous betrayal cannot go unturned.

Friend, Brother, Roommate,

Please bequeath me the one gift I ask:

Stop turning down the thermostat. 

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