Demons Don’t Knock

My demons don't knock at the door, they live In the mirror instead. They borrow my voice when I'm tired and whisper The worst in my head. They sit at the edge of my bed like They're waiting for me to fall. They don't need chains or shadows, They don't need horns at all. They sound like doubt. They feel like truth. They wear my face, they call It proof. My demons don't scream, they breathe right under my Skin at night. They tell me I'm broken beyond repair, That I'm losing every fight. They say I'm too damaged to love, too heavy To ever be free. But what if the voice in the dark Is not the real me? Anxiety counts every heartbeat like it's tracking a Ticking bomb. Depression pulls down the curtains and tells me to Just stay numb. Obsessions replay every sentence until I can't tell What is real. And I smile in public like Nothing inside me is trying to heal. They speak in statistics and chemical blame. But pain has a pattern and shame has a Name. My demons don't scream, they breathe. They curl up beside my fear. They tell me the world would be lighter if I could just disappear. They say I'm a burden of silence, A weight no one wants to see. But what if surviving the night is already victory? I am not the illness, I am not the Scar. I am not the diagnosis written on my Heart. I am the girl who wakes up even When she's torn apart. And sometimes staying alive is the bravest kind of Art. My demons still breathe, but so do I. And that is reason in enough. They can whisper all they want, But I am my own dark. They are not my future. They are not my identity. They live inside my mind, But they do not own me.