The Eyes

As I walk into the room
the eyes snap
toward me,
as though I had done something wrong
I walk slowly toward the chair,
and collapse into it
waiting for the eyes
to release me.
I turn to look but they are still there.
What did I do?
Nothing, Nothing.
I repeat to myself.
I lower my eyes
and fall
waiting, waiting,
for the eyes
to release their
sharp stinging
claws from within me.

by Kristy Winter

Other poems of WINTER (6)

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