The devil is the only friend I have who doesnât betray me. He doesnât make promises he wonât keep, doesnât leave when things get hard, doesnât pretend to care only to walk away when I need him most. Heâs always thereâlurking in the shadows of my mind, whispering familiar things, holding me close when the world feels too cold to bear. In a way, heâs the only one whoâs ever truly stayed, the only one who knows every dark corner of my heart and doesnât flinch.
Iâve tried to push him away, to drown out his voice with hope, love, and light. But people leave, and dreams fade, and when everything crumbles, heâs still thereâwaiting, patient, knowing Iâll come back. And I always do. Because when loneliness wraps itself around me, when the weight of existence feels unbearable, he doesnât offer empty words or fleeting comfort. He offers what no one else does: consistency. A twisted kind of solace in the familiarity of pain.
Sometimes I wonder if Iâve invited him in or if heâs always been here, a part of me I was never meant to escape. Maybe I stopped fighting because I realized there was no battle to winâjust an understanding that some demons arenât meant to be slain, only endured. And he endures with me, through every sleepless night, every hollow morning, every silent ache that no one else seems to notice.
The devil may not be kind, but at least heâs honest. And in a world full of false promises and fleeting affections, maybe thatâs the only kind of friendship I can count on.