A short, twisted poem about seeing someone I admire fall apart and die a little at a time. |
-Colored Are Her Eyes- by Keaton Foster Colored are her eyes Empty they seems for miles The hue speaks of her truth The lack of variation Is a strong indication Of her ultimate decimation Behind the lens Beyond the vertex of their bend Simply put there is nothing there A nothing that few dare share A nothing that offers no return No chance to ever again runneth over She is all but deceased inside A standing, walking, breathing Reciting waste of human space What she has come to be What she has come to say All of it increasingly queer From my POV I wonder why But from an even closer proximity I know that I would never ask why Not because I don’t wanna know But because I’m afraid of the answer The truth that she lives is the lie That I prefer to keep very close How will such a fate as hers affect me How will her demise change my life Such preponderances will become The sum of all the time I have left Once For a brief moment I somehow loved her Not for any amount of reasonable return Did she ever come to fall in love with me I was the specter that she has now become Colored are her eyes Empty is her head To those who know her Understand that she is all but dead A rotting virtue That no longer holds accurate A dammed parable to be expressed Only after she has nothing left Further adding to her dismay Deeper inside I can now see Brittle has become her spine Unstable are her bones Her soul is all that is whole All that is not lacking in role All that she has left to lose All that has yet to be taken away Colored are her eyes Empty they seems for miles The hue speaks of her truth The lack of variation Is a strong indication Of her absolute decimation I’ll be here just waiting Admiring from our distance Just watching on as she Collapses in upon herself Colored are her eyes Solid is the hue It speaks of her truth And her ultimate doom… Colored Are Her Eyes Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |