The Angel

by artemisathene

So the sage was spilling wisdom on the floor.

The people came and went

So many faces I had never seen before.

Three walls of glass and one of concrete.

Two hundred pairs of eyes boring into me.

They say I am perfect, so rare

Nowhere to sit, nowhere to hide

From their awful stares.

Why am I so amusing to these eyes and smiles?

I wish that I could die for just a little while.