Anxiously bleeding in the corner of my soul.
A tide flows over me attracting unwanted attention.
By the time those who I love notice.
I've died to the hands of the bad men.
No one nice ever notices me.
Those who notice call me words.
Words that have lost their meaning.
And words that no one should be called.
Worthless.
Homo.
Useless.
Unlikable.
Words that no one needs to hear.
Words that no one needs to say.
Because words hurt.
Words not spoken can convince people to live another day.
YOU ARE READING
A Cry For Help
PoetryAll of my "Wonderful" poems, based around suicide and other ideologically sensitive topics, as well as poems about depression, anxiety, and self doubt.
