It’s not technically illegal to sell your soul.
Ill-advised, maybe.
Probably going against the doctrine of at least
some of the world’s major religions.
But not, actually, illegal.

She had to break a few rules to do it, though.
Dash of grave robbing:
all those old woodcuts told her she needed a skull
to brandish dramatically
in the soul-selling Instagram shots.

Shoplifted a few candles,
because she was damned if she was going
to make do with a few birthday candles,
but posh ones are expensive
and she’d burnt all hers down in lesser rituals.

The terms of her flat’s lease
as written in a disappointingly digital document,
prohibited open flames or painting the walls,
but the pentagram needed to go somewhere
and electric lights aren’t Lucifer’s thing.

Once it was done—soul sold, kaput, etc—
she resolved to keep all laws and contracts
(especially the big one made with Him Downstairs),
but it was hard once she’d started,
and with your soul gone you can get away with anything.

Siobhan Dunlop is a UK-based poet and book blogger with poems in 404 Ink, Pixel Heart, meanwhile magazine, Crêpe & Penn, 3 Moon, Vamp Cat, TERSE., Door is a Jar, perhappened, and elsewhere. They love reworking classic texts and reading about tech, and can be found on Twitter under @fiendfull.