Dear Satan,
I wish that you would go away. I do a good deed, and pride ensues. I thwart one of your flaming arrows, and pride follows close behind. I give in, and you rub my face in the mud with shame. I am locked in a prison of sin and, just when I'm about to escape, you remind me of the shackles of guilt around my ankles. You make me question my every move. Am I noble or selfish? Loving or self-righteous? Caring or pretending? I'm sick of you.
God's child, Raleigh
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