I sold my soul for a fleeting rush, White dust whispering promises in hush. A mirror’s glare, a stranger’s stare— Who is this ghost that’s standing there? Once I had laughter, friends, and flame, Now I only answer when called by shame. Nights blur together, mornings burn cold, My story rewritten by lines of old. The devil’s dandruff—sweet deceit, Dancing angels beneath my feet. It kissed my wounds, then fed my pride, Till all I loved began to hide. Isolation—my new best friend, Silence the sermon I can’t defend. Each hit, a prayer to a god of none, Each tear, a war that can’t be won. I tried to climb from that blackened pit, Swore I was done—believed that was it. For a moment I glimpsed myself reborn, A spark through the wreckage, faintly warm. But temptation’s voice was soft and near, Promising peace I’d never hear. I fell again—ashamed, undone, The cycle spins; I try to run. Misery carved my heart in stone, In the crowd, I stand alone. Every relapse steals a piece, Every high denies release. Yet still, I fight—I bleed, I crawl, To find the man beneath it all. Through trembling hands and hollow eyes, I seek the truth that never dies. For somewhere beyond the devil’s breath, Beyond the ruin, the near-death death, There waits a soul that won’t give in— A whisper of light beneath the sin. And maybe one day, I’ll stand and say, I found myself along the way. Through loss, through hell, through every fall, The devil took much— but not my all.