Like a Corpse


They looked at me.
As if worms had wiggled
Through my skin, and
Then fallen at their feet.

They took from me my,
Eyes.
As a mercy, so I would never
Know the faces of disgust
They had made at me.

They peeled back my skin,
And lay my bleeding heart
In the open.
As they snapped pictures, and photos,
and video.

They showed my humiliation.
My distortion.
Revealing that I was not worthy of any
Restitution; Redepemtion.
Ah, how the mighty sounded.
With laughter; an impairing ovation.

All I said was that,
I am sick. That I am ill.
That I… needed help.
But they treated me like a corpse.
As if I were already dead.

They forget that the world
Is filled with necromancers?
Did they not know that
Death never truly stays dead?

Soon they will see,
The mutilated,
The deceased,
Me, the undead, risen once again.
And I will become the one thing they fear.
To take, everything,
That they hold dear.

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This Poems Story

Society of today treats people with depression and anxiety terrible ways. The repercussions of such treatment can sometimes have dire consequences.