Her Fans Behind Masks

They started with a whisper, dressed in lies,
then built new faces out of borrowed names;
each shadow opened windows with false eyes,
and fed the midnight hunger of their games.

They made a thousand doors to watch her through,
each door pretending it had never been;
they hated her beneath a different hue,
then secretly returned to watch again.

The sickness grew; their hatred learned to smile,
their jealous fingers worshipped every post;
they followed every footprint, every mile,
becoming fans of what they hated most.

Now ghosts applaud her from their hidden screens,
fake digital fans behind fake identities.