Living with a leech
hanging off my skin,
glutted by greed,
contracting and compressing.
A bloodletting,
vile, wiggly weed.
A parasitic pest
I let continue to feed;
something's wrong with me.
Moist regret,
a subtle sucking
draining me on both ends;
it does nothing but gain,
again and again.
Numbs a spot,
waits for a feast,
passes on pathogens,
taking all of the fame.
Living with a leech,
a bully, a beast.
Localize the pain,
but it wants my last drop;
we can’t be friends.
© 2026 | K.F. Hartless





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