Paranoia

A poem.

I never walk alone,
beady eyes following every step,
every breath, every thought.
They judge the way I dress, the way I walk.
They are trying to see through me,
so that they can gain control.
I walk faster,
start running, stumbling,
barely keeping upright,
I cross the road, go around the corner,
through the park until the supermarket.
I look behind me,
they seem to be gone,
but then as I start walking forward,
I see them in an old man's eyes.

Photograph by Stephen Vanfleteren