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

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