Demons
Knock, knock, knock,
I hear them knocking away,
Sometimes gently, sometimes bold,
Tapping constantly at my door.
I wish they would go away,
But no.
They whisper to me,
“Let us in; come play with us my friend,”
“With us you are not alone.”
But I know,
That if I let them in,
It is the end,
And I will be no more.
I tell them to go away,
And try to ignore.
But when the days are cruel, dark and cold,
And blood flows from fresh cuts still sore,
I hear their knocking all the more.
They are knocking hard at the door today,
Loudly, because they know.
That I now have no one left to hear me,
No one to talk to,
And am all alone.
How bad can it be?
To open the door and let them in,
I ask myself.
At least they know me,
At least they have always been there at my door,
Where no one else has been.
Why am I pretending,
When the end has always been,
Predictable, inevitable and known?
Resigned but relieved at the decision made,
I finally open the door for them,
For the demons,
Who were knocking at my door.