as the sky violently rips itself apart
and the heavens open up for only a brief moment,
releasing a thin herald of fury
dodging in and out again
refusing to attach itself to a world so vile,
and pinpricks of the frozen moon
tap-tap-tap on my window
i will search for my
brand new eyes
as i rub, scrub till rewarded with red
scratch and sniffle, blink and blink again
and the sticky fog clears away
but only for a while
i search for my
brand new eyes
purple.
telling myself that the toil and trouble
are worth the bubbles
(i've never been able to believe any less)
and thus my fingertips are covered in blood
as i search for my
brand new eyes
purple
is all the old ones will see
never hard or clean or smooth, just
purple
in all of its shades
but especially the darkest ones.
where are my
brand new eyes?
i've always had an aversion to eyes
and i wonder if that is due to all of the trouble they've caused me.
but, i need them
oh, how i need them
and so i search for my
brand new eyes
all is quiet now.
i have traded sight for sound.
blue.
YOU ARE READING
the shepherd's sword
Random[the things we dare not say aloud] the walls have faces, you know. the angels do not.
