Eyes open the soul to inspection.
Sometimes when eyes meet the soul is filled with wonder and delight,
others an extreme desire to run and to fight,
an infestation that entangles and ensnares,
a **** that gathers there.

I have been burned by prying eyes,
their color, shape, and design
embedded into my memory for the remainder of my life.

In my mind, everything around those eyes have faded into obscurity over time.

The image at first is clear, but the edges fade rapidly,
Until all i see are the eyes filled with intensity.
A silent command, “Keep quiet.”

How could I have been so naive to have listened?
I remember being questioned when I kept my distance,
I said I didn't feel well,
An unheard cry for help.

I contemplated telling the truth,
But every time I thought to give proof,
I felt the eyes on me.
I was as if they could see everything within my head.

The eyes, they knew my intentions,
And their stormy presence gave way to hesitations,
It was not a total lie…
I wasn’t feeling well.

The cause of this unwell was what should be
Foreign to the lives of little children, like me.
This dark thing was not a thought to be entertained.
How is it that one morning you wake up,
Eyes masked by rose colored glasses,
And the next they’ve turned to jade?

Were my innocent eyes what made him want to pursue?
Open, inviting, gaps in the wall that hid my spirit?
Maybe that is why I was the target,
Windows wide enough for a thief to climb through.


I have very little memory of that time.
All that I can recall are those eyes,
Gleaming, and beady in the night,
Reflecting nothing but glimmer of the hallway light.

I remember how they looked when they looked back at me,
And forever those eyes will be trapped inside my memory.

What haunts me more than those grey and lifeless eyes,
Is how for all the times I saw those eyes,
They never seemed to see the tears in mine.

I feel sick.
Sick.
Tumults of nerves
Crash
Upon my conscious shores.
Waves
Of endless misery
Make my insides sore.

I feel weak.
Weak.
Drafts of fear
Breeze
Within my shaking bones.
Rushes
Of quiet anxiety
Colder than the age old stones.

My stomach is too full of stones,
My face too full of blood,
My heart too full of mud,
My soul too full of dark.

Where did I even start?
What beginning is mine?
Why do I pretend I’m fine?
Where do I begin?
When will it finally win?
Why can’t I let go?
Why can’t I ever hope to show what is trapped inside my heart
This desire to be a part
Of something better than me?
What is better?
What can I be?

Why can’t I separate these two Golden masks,
One side is nothing but a cast of false brass,
One side is nothing but a shell of empty gold,
An image of beauty hiding a lesser self,
The other is pure but only a little.

Reality is fickle,
Falsity is a mistress to all.

The night reveals temptation,
The day reveals the fall.

Drip, drip, drip,
It creeps and drips and climbs,
Up my throat this vile creature slimes.
Its tingling fingers grip

I feel sick