People loved my stories.
But they grew stricter and stricter.
My image began to fade.
Poetry held me captive.
But I was in the forest.
Running beneath the trees.
Trees that were grey and dark.
They shrouded darkness and power. Black elves playing melodies to veil the atmosphere.
I walked and ran.
The thorns before a great castle.
Full of blood and sharp edges.
Now to a cave filled with spiders and betrayal.
Betrayal is the largest word in my story.
I feel so thin and abandoned.
But in this world, I discover and unleash creativity.
A world that veils the real one.
Another pain that keeps me restrained.
As dull as it sounds, I still cry, just like you.
No matter how hard it is, you can still hear the black elves. Elves that are usually angelic.
Stepping into darkness.
The word "darkness" that appears so often in poetry.
Poetry crafted from emotions.
Even though I no longer know.
To keep going.