You look at me and I see the life
Teeming behind your eyes.
I wonder how it got there
And how it stays alive.

I'd like to know what you see
In my eyes when you look at me.
I have a feeling it's fear
Or nothing at all.

All that lives behind my eyes
Are lines of illegible scribble
That can barely be recognized
As phonetic syllables.

Is it obvious that I'm terrified
Of the life in you?
It scares me in the way
Most beautiful things do.

I can appreciate the appeal
But please don't let it get too close.
I'm content with my dead eyes
And it would be too painful to bring them to life.

I am scared of your vibrancy
And at the same time jealous.
Jealous because I bet the world
Is beautiful to you.

And I bet you think
I'm beautiful too.
How lovely it would be
To see things the way you do.

How lovely it would be
Too feel good things
With the same intensity
That I feel bad.

Do you ever become overwhelmed by joy?
Or excitement?
Or laughter?
What's it like to be more than a shell
Of a life that could have been wonderful?