To her I had clung,

Haunted by the melody she’d sung.

Only bitter pieces remained,

And the numbness waned.


“Don’t cry,” she’d say,

Yet she refused to stay.

She’d lead me to the fire,

 And let it all transpire.


She was a vision

At the crossroad of a decision.

She left me there,

Broken, lost, and bare.


She fueled the lies—

Ever the puppet master of my guise.

Upon burying things that were,

I realized I no longer needed her. 

This poem is about: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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