Sometimes… I wonder if my demons ever really lived inside me…

or if they are me.

The parts that learned how to survive when no one else came.

The ones that stayed up when I tried to rest.

Guarding. Watching.

Waiting for the next storm.

They whisper, even now –

that safety is just a story I keep trying to believe.

And maybe they’re right.

Maybe safety isn’t something you find.

Maybe it’s something you learn to fake

until your heartbeat finally forgets the rhythm of fear.

So I let them linger…

the shadows that know my name,

the ghosts that built me.

Because sometimes,

the only thing darker than my demons

is the silence without them.