I used to think blue eyes were pretty,
his were not.
his were not cornflower, sapphire, baby, indigo, azure,
or cloudy sky blue.
His were midnight where the light pollution from the city blocks the stars.
Iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death

dead in the night
all alone
dead inside

eyes wide open
glued to the ceiling
gone all mental healing

all the overthinking
praying for redemption
followed by slow blinking
for shame, i'm left with feelings of abnegation.

why does he attempt to
harm me with his words

when I try to let them go
you know
by staying silent and calm
he comes back harder
in an attempt to provoke

I try and try and try
but I can't lie
it's hard sometimes

it's hard sometimes for me to get past my pain

because I know he wont care about it

You change in the snap of a finger
you give pain
with your stinger
you can't see the pain
why can't you see