When they leave
I still feel sad.
Because they took so much.
While never giving much back.
Or was it just me?
Was I a leech?
I probably was.
I still am.
A useless black leech.
A disgusting, wretched, slimy leech.
I eat people away in hopes they'll save me.
Taking their energy.
Then wondering why they hate me.
It would be easy to just kill myself right now.
I don't want to be remembered.
But yet that's what I am most afraid of.
Will people
remember me?
What if no one will ever care and they'll just move on from my death?
What if they never move on and I am still a leech boy during death?
What if my death causes someone else's death?
YOU ARE READING
Alienated
PoetryIt's a bunch of poems that I wrote while venting. Some are from my other account and story called 'The Alien On Earth'. Trigger Warning: -Anxiety -Depression -Suicidal thoughts -Self-harm -Toxic relationships -Abuse
