Debt

Debt is the weight you carry in your chest, not your wallet. It’s the 3 a.m. dread, the voice that says, “You’ll never escape this.” It’s red letters stacking like gravestones on the doormat. It’s pretending at the checkout that your card didn’t just decline. Debt is a prison where the bars are interest rates, where dreams get sold for rent, and payday comes pre-promised to pain. They don’t tell you it owns your sleep — wakes you with cold sweats and keeps you up counting every mistake you’ve ever made. Debt doesn’t knock. It breaks in, sits at your table, and eats your last meal while you pretend it’s fine. And still… you smile, tell your kids, “We’re okay.” But inside, you’re screaming because there’s nothing left to give.