The Devil’s knocking

The devil’s knocking at my door,

He whispers things I can’t ignore.

His voice is sharp, it cuts me deep,

Steals my rest, infects my sleep.

He tells me I’m weak, that I’ll never escape,

That my life’s a mess, just a twisted shape.

Every word is a dagger, sinking in slow,

Reminding me of everything I don’t want to show.

I try to pray, but my hands just shake,

My faith feels thin, like it might break.

The louder I scream inside my head,

The stronger his echoes grow instead.

He feeds on the secrets I’ve buried away,

The guilt, the shame, the words I can’t say.

He knows the cracks, he pries them wide,

There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

But even in darkness, faint and small,

A fragile spark still dares to call.

It whispers softly through the fight:

“You’re still here—hold on to the light.”