Those unintentionally intentional brushes,
Finding ways to touch me as the crowd rushes,
Those eyes burning with cold passion,
Interested beneath what I thought as fashion,
Your breaths on me are hot as coals,
Those gazes hurt like bullet holes,
Your smiles invade me like Macbeth's blade,
Those rides back home make me curse the way I am made,
I fear my sweat beads trickling down,
Making my body your hunting ground,
Like an eagle in pursuit of its prey,
You find your chances to gnaw me away,
Don't blame our clothes you worthless creeps,
Had they been the reasons no 5 years old's parents would weep,
The nights that had ought to be calm and cool,
Traumatiseme, I can see you drool,
Even my pen bleeds as I etch your sins,
Though lifeless it may be it has more soul than you within.
⃠Shy