'Reserved' might just be a word the legion would use.
They judge me by my expression, attitude, even the way I dress.
You might be this way, if you felt the constant ripping of being forsaken.
They stare as I walk down the never ending corridor of life. Their gaze burns the feeling that they can see a smog of lonely memories revolving around my head.
Do I dare stare back? Give them that special expression, 'back off, '
Eventually I will give them that face, and they may whisper of rumor