I see their eyes watching me. 
Begging me to let them catch me off guard. 
Life, no longer a playground of carefree laughter. 
I am dying. 
Slowing. 
On the inside. 
You can't see my silent struggle. 
My battle scars are of a different kind. 

They are vultures. 
They circle slowly,
Licking their lips as they watch me dissipate. 
My self implosion is futile. 
It's what they want. 
They play with their food. 
I am a feast they have been preparing. 
When I stumble,
They will be there. 
Waiting. 

I will be here. 
Sticky from the sweat, 
Their bright eyes shine on me. 
Follow me like a spotlight,
I don't want to be in. 
To be free would be to live unknown. 
Anonymous success. 
But, this is what I wanted. 
I traded my soul to feed them. 
They are still hungry.