It is them. Those people on the stairs are always watching me. Every single move, every single smile and tears. I can not talk, I can not dream, because of them. They are above, it's what they think. For me, it's just an illusion of theirs. For me, they're lower then hell, for they are my hell, all those people, all of them, that get up their stairs and watch, every...single...move of mine. They forget about their worlds, their forget about their houses, kids, and wives and trees. Ignore their problem. Their reality. Their lives. Choosing to point at me, down here, or up here when I look back and see them below. I close my eyes, walk the side walk, and try to get on with my life, watching my own life, living life, not going up stairs and watching.
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