Eyes in the dark stare at me, they pretend not to look when I notice them.

What scares me more, the fact that I do not know who the eyes belong to, or why they look at me with such intense hate?

I won’t be sleeping tonight, as I fear I will never wake the morning to come.

The eyes in the dark stare at me, and I pray they remain as such.

A singular feather falls from the heavens,
landing on my head.

How lucky am I to have witnessed such an event,
Blessed by the finest feather of an angels wings.

I often dream of porcelain skies,
It’s smooth and fragile surfaces enticing me to thoughts of better times.

With a glass hammer I break the sky,
And, as the hammer breaks in my hand and tears at my flesh, I dye the porcelain a deep crimson red.