Eyes of the Dead

Night creeps in
and they hover within the darkness.
Bloodshot red, glossed-over,
midnight corneas peering, gazing, staring deep,
piercing my soul with their morbid wonder.
They burn through the masks I lurk beneath,
peeling my layers until, at last, my mirror
reflects my own true madness,
and I grow to love being observed
by the sunken, watchful eyes of the dead.


Originally pen on 2003