Probing eyes sear my skin
Secluded even among this great sea of people
There are no stares
It is but a cruel mind game
A short-circuited thought pattern
Repeating the lies until they sound plausible
They become real as I reject the obvious
My eyes scan the masses
In between hastened glances at the floor
For fear they hear my internal screams
Wednesday, May 9, 2001
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