I normally don't go to parties on week night but if I hadn't seen you last Thursday night I never would've known I didn't like hazel eyes. I'll  allow you to whisper sweet nothings into my ear but I don't want to look at you because it's hard to pretend to like the color of your eyes. they're a muddy swamp that surely has some sort of decaying carcass of another girl you once killed with them hidden behind the dark iris. I don't know why but i wanted you to touch my body even though I knew you were killing me and you didn't even know who I was. the sober spirit inside me is supposed to be stronger than my intoxicated character but I spent all night kissing you, being careful to keep my eyes closed or else I was sure id meet my demise and become just another decrepit body masked my your seemingly gentle eyes. I can't even believe I somehow managed to stay the whole night with a mass murderer with the fully loaded weapons in a room in a house that I'd never been in. I didn't want to kiss you again because you tasted of  stale american beer and cheap menthol cigarettes. that night was  meaningless but I stayed because I guess I just had one too many but when I woke up next to you I wanted your awful taste out of my mouth and your skin as far away from mind as possible. we don't know each others names and we never will because it doesn't matter to me enough to know your name.  I still don't like the color of your eyes and I never wanted your sweet nothings because that's all they are. nothing.