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The Eyes

I walk into a crowd with my head held high, slightly proud. But I soon halt my confident walk and balk, because it's a crowd made of eyes, and my earlier confidence seems like a pack of lies. I feel like I'm being hit by thousands of stones as the stares of the crowd strike me to my bones, and I frantically search for a place to sit, because the crowd made of eyes is calculating, analyzing, staring, staring, staring, and I don't know if they like what they see. I sit down in an inconspicuous spot and become part of the crowd of eyes; searching, staring, sneaking, peeking, seeking a new victim.



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