a devil on each shoulder

a dramatic but unfortunately accurate personification of my OCD

there isn’t an angel in sight.
i have to be my own.

a devil on each shoulder, 
heavy and persistent

the weight makes me ache.
my back, my knees, my mind.

they never stop whispering.
they whisper when i sleep and when i dream;
no slumber is deep enough to escape.

the pills i swallow each morning are supposed to sound proof my mind, 
but they’re always in the background.
like a quiet murmur that travels through space. 
a humid breeze that passes through leaves, the kind that signals a storm.

everyone knows not the trust a devil, especially two of them.
but Lucifer was once the morning star of God’s kingdom.
during His rebellion, His fall from grace, did He truly lose all his reason?

or do the whispers carry truth?
is the Devil’s false doctrine really just the truth that no one wants to hear?
that they want to silence? 

that’s what the two of Them tell me, at least.
They plead for me to listen.
They threaten.
They know that despite my protests, my doubt, there is a part of me that worries.
a part of me that wonders.

as long as i wonder, They won’t stop.