The Devil On My Shoulder

Last night a six-mile run outside was the goal.

5 am came quicker than I could have ever dreamed.

Glancing out the window, my eyes saw the cold and bones felt the chill.

The devil on my shoulder yelled to lie back down, but told myself to get out the door.

I started running and but the devil told me to stop at one mile, but I told myself to make it two.

He was still there at two, but I told myself to make it to three.

He was close to getting the best of me at three, but I told myself to make it to four.

His voice shouted at me to stop at four, but I told myself to make it to five.

His last chance was at five, but convinced myself I only had one more mile to go.  

When I was done and had run six he was gone, but then something whispered make it seven.