Could There Be A Hotter Hell? Poem by Onwuasoanya FCC Jones

Hell is hot, we assume,
But the hotness of my country pills skins,
grays hairs and melts bones.
Petrol is found as much as you find water in deserts,
Jobs are for they who do not need them,
CBN: Central Bureau for Neophytes.
We pay for what we never ate;
Electricity, roads, security,
Basic needs, paid for by the masses,
Reserved for the elites, enjoyed by the powerful,
We roast in the heat of the season, fed on by rampaging mosquitoes,
With our votes, we bought chains,
Changed from suffering animals, to trampled animals,
Helpless, hopeless, stripped nude,
yet forced to dance; in solidarity with the tyrant.
Could there be a hotter hell?
The masses pay for the exorbitance of the tyrants,
Salaries cut to buy private jets for the brain dead junketers,
Jobs cut to bring on teenage strippers for the randy pedophiles in our palaces.
Hell is fine, for all are equal
In my country, the worst sinners head to Heaven,
The bigger the loot, the finer the palaces,
And the downtrodden hail them on.
Fear not any hell fire,
Here is the hell,
Worst than any hell at all.