She Has Blue Eyes

A present of suffering

With a soul and ticker that trickles with common decency.

An oath that presses hysterically inwards with its thumbs

Bursting the windpipe that supposedly brings in life.


Sit me down, if you please,

Let me stare at that smashed glass complexion

As the shattered slices stomp their way

In and out of every pore of my peeling skin.


I receive feeble dolls

Who have the audacity to swaddle me,

Or even let me weep deep into their

Fathomless chests.


I guess I’m sorry,

Sincerely that is,

That you’ve dived into the damnation

Of these deep azure and melancholy eyes.