Devils Never Die

The aging mist is heavy on my shoulders. How old I feel when I meet my past's ferocious gaze. I see error and loss when I look into its eyes. There are so many strange confusions lurking in fatigue's misleading silence. They crop up at the edge of reason. They lurk with guilt and accusation.

How long does contentment last when it spawns from suffering? Pain's memory fades along with the thankful appreciation that arises from its absence. But an arrogance is often born as a result of time. It then grows and supplants humility. This is unhealthy. I must keep my arrogance in check. I have already fallen from hubris' grace.

Life's pains must be revived each day in order to ensure that mistakes are not relived. I must inject their memories into my heart when I feel invincible. Human weakness must never be forgotten, buried, or ignored. And so I rub my wounds to keep them fresh.

Because life's devils never die. They only wait and slumber. They are cunning, baffling, powerful. And if you turn out the lights they'll stab you in the dark.