Broken Eyes

You were sweet,

I tore myself in an ugly fold.

 

There's warmth beneath those cold blue eyes. They scold icy tension, scorched against a blackened mood. Your smile will not let falter cause a lesser feeling borrowed. Your voice will not break dark red silence, blooming from a thousand thoughts unheard.

 

You were sweet,

I lay torn in an ugly fold. Torn and silent in this room of words I hide. These words bring you and give you thoughts. I'll not stay long - until your black eyes turn back and your breath burns the empty air.

Rush

Kept by my side, tightly folded in my fist, lies a secret. You cannot read it, nor can I. Let me tell you why I keep it. I'll show you more of myself through showing you the way to read.

First hold my hand. Feel my skin and watch me move. Discreetly watch my eyes watch yours and feel the warmth that runs through to my mind. Let nothing stop your grip from tightening. Clasp the hope of reading truth. Find inside there, in your own thoughts, that which reciprocates mine. It's not a memory, it's fresh and cool, but slowly warms. As it spreads there's danger nearing. You'll find your breaths shorten and the heat sweep light from your eyes. I'll watch you, see inside you. No motive will break the tie. Your mind is set. Your eyes are blank. My secret overwhelms you.

It's just an idea.

I am still he who paints with one eye shut. With a red light imposing on the artificial night, thought provokes unwillingness to comply. I feel this way of being is not doing us any good. All curtains aside, the colour of your eyes forces focal points to switch. The fall of your hair and the feel of your voice make for inward conversation over a common good view. You read. I hear the words as if written by some other being, and I watch your eyes. You smile. You cry. You show the world the real you. You show me, everything you hide from everyone else.
There are shapes in the ground, melancholy misconceptions and songs for you and me. There are voices that fly without source or destination. There is you in a photo frame, and there is me holding it to the wall. I place you high, above other images, and hold you in the sky like no one else would. Yet there is something that stops me from holding you close.