When I walk down the halls,
I feel the stares that I know aren't there
but I feel them all the same.  

Every eye, every mind, but this isn’t vanity,
because every glance is a burning pain,
a picture of the thousand words that I don't want to hear.  

So pill after pill,
until empty bottles cover my floors,
and steel locks bolt my doors.  

There is no overdose to present me with a midnight rose,
because who knows what would happen. I don't.  
So I stay here where I can see because blinding light paints away every shadow.

The windows are always shuttered to keep out the dark,
the growing, bulging, draining fear that I can't even keep out of my head,
the shady figure waiting around every street corner.  

You think that I don't know? It doesn't have to make sense to be real for me.
They say I have nothing to fear but fear itself,
but why do that when fear is my constant company?