Demons In The Dark/Spiritual Warfare

I stand as a lone figure in the dark
A person of no consequence to my mind
But of enormous worth to forces I cannot see
As a solitary figure against the wind
The lone wisp of straw who stubbornly clings
And refuses to let go and be swept away

Of what significance could a life be
So patterned by rebellion and regret?
Yet like a simmering cauldron
Vibrant and full, passionate and repressed
Waiting, simply waiting to be set free
To be dynamic, to be powerful yet gentle
To be used

I dream of dark werewolves that jump out of closets

Friends are around me, yet distant
They want to help, but their lives go by in an otherwise normal fashion

But the demons in the dark are after me alone.
In every corner I see them
Their glowing eyes are laced with hate
They are ready to pounce out and grab me
Hold me until I must give in.
But they have not yet killed me.
It seems their intentions to to torture me
To drive me to fear
Always holding out that last snap of the jaws
That tetheres me to this life, to sanity

I never see what is happening when they attack
I do not have their eyes of eternity
Yet they work so subtly and lethally with my fears and my hurts
So as to render me helpless to all but flight

They follow me then, even in flight when I try to run away from them
They are with me on every street-corner
In the car when I drive
When I visit with friends
When I sleep and when I wake
Though consciousness cloaks them in a mist of reality
A veil of the physical to mask the spiritual
Hiding their true forms and their methods of attack

But always they are waiting for my eyes to close
For my guard to be let down in a moment of weakness
For doubt to creep back in again
And as strong as I have tried to be, they wear me down
Until I am helpless and vulnerable again
Till the most opportune time to attack
And they show no mercy
There is no light in them

They are what follows along-side my path
Just beyond the boundaries waiting
To snatch away any hope or strength or endurance that I have found
If I stray but a little outside of the narrow walk set before me

What is this endless chatter
That clacks and vibrates inside of me?
It will not be silenced
Its a broken dream or blurred reality
Too confusing to utter, to complex to share
Too simple to make sense to this convaluted mess of a mind