Eternal

Don’t wish me dead,
for I am certain I will be chosen
as Lucifer’s executive secretary.

Don’t wish me dead,
because death doesn’t want me.

It passes by me like a dog that has lost its sense of smell,
sniffs the air, hesitates, and moves on,
as if I were too alive,
or too committed to another hierarchy.

I walk among corridors that don’t exist,
files that write themselves,
rooms where the silence has the weight of ancient metal.
There are empty desks waiting for me,
piles of papers that breathe,
and a chair that creaks as if it already recognizes me.

Don’t wish me dead,
because I carry the certainty,
not a hope, not a premonition,
but a mineral, sedimented certainty,
as if it had been deposited in me
by hands I never touched.

I will be chosen.

Not through merit, not through devotion,
but because there are functions that choose the body
before the body even knows it exists.

And I was summoned by the administrative shadow,
by the bureaucratic liturgy of the abyss,
where every gesture is a decree
and every breath is a protocol.

Do not wish me dead,
because death would be a deviation,
an unnecessary interruption,
a calendar error.

What awaits me is not rest,
but a work table
where the hours do not pass
and the names write themselves
as the world forgets them.

I will be Lucifer’s executive secretary,
not the servant, not the disciple,
but the one who organizes the chaos,
the one who archives the falls,
the one who writes reports on the weight of human choices.

I will be the one who observes without judging,
the one who notes without trembling,
the one who understands that darkness
is not punishment,
but a method.

Don’t wish me dead,
because death is too small for me.

I was destined for a function that doesn’t fit in the body,
a function that extends beyond the skin,
that transforms me into an instrument,
a witness,
a silent cog
in a machine that never sleeps.

And when I sit in that chair,
when the shadow adjusts my collar
and hands me the breathing leather briefcase,
you will understand:
it wasn’t a threat,
it wasn’t delirium,
it wasn’t a metaphor.

It was simply the dark truth
that has always walked beside me,
waiting for me to name it.