Stares
Don’t look up they will see,
Look down. Only down.
The floor becomes your only
comfort.
The bitter, charcoal tiles,
that reflect no warmth.
Much like their stares.
You become that tiny speck of
dust on the floor.
No one even notices the speck.
It gets swept away by a broom,
quickly out of sight.
But you are left in the moment.
With their stares.
One day, they will forget.
But you will not.
Not the feeling.
And not the bitter, charcoal
Stares.
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