Not Real
The cold is unbearable.
Feels more eerie tonight.
It crawls under my skin.
Leaving me dreading the fright.
Then a voice echoes.
It whispers my name.
It fills me with terror
That I cannot explain.
My gut dropped, chest heaved.
My soul not in this realm.
Not anymore. No, I am stuck
In a world where nothing is well.
So I run. Run as fast as I can.
I do not stop, I do not break.
I fought off the monster.
That just takes and takes.
But it's no use, not at all.
It caught onto me with its knife.
Pressing it against my throat
Sliding it down, draining away my life.
As every bit of my blood
Drops under my feet.
I felt the painful bite
Of death's jaws and teeth.
Slowly, the cold envelopes me.
Then warmth, my body jolting up.
It was just a dream, a nightmare
Of what my imagination made up.
👁 5💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.