This poem will be untitled. It speaks for itself.
Two days later and I'm feeling fine,
if fine means one of dozens in line.
And here's the secret, the one of fates:
I am the one who waits.
And while you wait for me in vain,
I am there taking full reign.
I feast on hearts and letters known
of those who wait all alone.
I steal hope from the lingering soul
of the one who is no longer in control.
That self-pity, the depression
remains now in my possession.
And you know you no longer own
the heart that's apart of those unknown.
Your secret thoughts are now in my hand
while your grasp on life is but a strand.
I came into your life long ago,
and you are incapable of letting me go.
Although I steal the life from you each day,
it kills you to think of casting me away.
I crawl in and latch on and suck out your love,
but somehow I am all you can think of.
You love me, you fool, though I kill
slowly, like poison, in your free will.
And you shall die in line, bound in chains
while I feast upon your loving remains.