Glossy eyes watch mine.
They ask "are you okay?" and I answer "no" but there's not much we can do when spoken words don't speak.
But if they did they'd say something beautifully tragic, something not even the gods could propose.
Glossy eyes watch green grass.
Wishing there was snow,
green grass reminds too much of chests pressed against each other and days they wish to let go.
But they still watch because there's something alluring about heart breaks floating back to break once more.
Glossy eyes watch open wounds.
As if blood soaked cloth is an average sight, blank stares watch red drip to pale sheets in the dead of night.
But what an indulgent feeling rushing through an ill mind.
Glossy eyes watch sorrow alter to anger of some sort.
Painful passion for someone who couldn't handle the weight of the love they provide.
But these ripples of hurt aren't to be rebuilt, just simply felt through the motions.
Glossy eyes finally spill their gloss
for all the ravishing despair that lives in this world,
as if they had somehow caused it,
but suppose they have,
it's a shame to watch with dry eyes.
