The crudeness of their lies is everywhere,
hurts everywhere.
They write best wishes to everyone,
but deliberately put one in the corner.

Their stares bring rain,
and their glares are what welcome her.
There is no warm greeting on the outside of her door.
Open it and find them there.

Her bed tries to bring comfort,
but then another walking stare marches in,
greeting her with a familiar glare,
the one that watches her as she sleeps.

Everywhere she goes, their glares follow.
She tries to walk away, but a stare finds her trail.
She tries to hide, but is always found by a watcher.
She tries to sleep them away, but the glares rip into her dreams.

Their wide eyes are inescapable.
Too many dilated, dark pupils moving as she moves,
dancing to her rhythm, noting all her moves,
spotting all her trips, recording all her falls.

The eyes of them see her discomfort,
and find their own serenity.
These eyes were once welcoming,
now are forever watching, forever following.