Walking down the street

The eyes. The eyes. The eyes.

Glaring.

Whispering.

Staring.

You look, but you do not see,

so I indulge your vanity.

I wear your mirror on my face,

so that you can replace it

with your desires,

superficially inspired.

My unfortunate surface

gives a false preface,

disguising turmoil inside me,

my vulnerability.

I’m jaded

by misguided

intentions of flattery

in a world of hypocrisy.

Judge me this way or that;

either way, you lack

the capacity to fathom

the phantom that haunts

and taunts

my deteriorating mind.

I’m reminded

that people can be blind.

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