Haven't you heard it's not polite to stare?
Your piercing eyes puncture my skin and make me bleed my emotions.
And yet, I still don't know what
You see when my habitual glare meets yours,
But I know I cause convulsions.
Convulsions that run up and down your spine.
Because you have yet to realize until now
That you were bleeding the same dark red
Liquid from the **** that I caused.
Nevertheless, we still both convince ourselves of being unaware
To what this lingering, locking of our retinas symbolizes.
Is it love?
Is it lust?
Or is it neither?
We contemplate this question and wait patiently.
Hoping that our dauntless, hazel orbs, urge us on
Once more, to peer into their mirror images across the way.
So that they can utter the words that our tongues cannot form.
There is no longer a use for pointless chatter,
When our stare says it all.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
Haven't you heard it's not polite to stare?
Your piercing eyes puncture my skin and make me bleed my emotions.
And yet, I still don't know what
You see when my habitual glare meets yours,
But I know I cause convulsions.
Convulsions that run up and down your spine.
Because you have yet to realize until now
That you were bleeding the same dark red
Liquid from the **** that I caused.
Nevertheless, we still both convince ourselves of being unaware
To what this lingering, locking of our retinas symbolizes.
Is it love?
Is it lust?
Or is it neither?
We contemplate this question and wait patiently.
Hoping that our dauntless, hazel orbs, urge us on
Once more, to peer into their mirror images across the way.
So that they can utter the words that our tongues cannot form.
There is no longer a use for pointless chatter,
When our stare says it all.
