The Dark Moors

I walk on the dark moors

and dance with the wolves.

I don't want to go home,

where reality rules.

my fingers are crossed.

a sword in my hand.

my soul will fight,

to stay in this land.

cut with a dagger

stabbed with a knife.

there's nothing left,

to go back to my life.

Empty and useless.

I'm all hollowed out.

inside I'm screaming

" I don't want to be found!"

I prefer the sword in my hand.

to the knife in my back

I smile and joke,

though emotions I lack.

truly I'm empty

so please let me go

I'm not who I was,

once long ago.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741