I

My eyes give me away,

They show the weariness of the my fortified soul.


Whenever they dilate,

I cry a pond of clear propensity.


The water lilies drift and so my eyes do shift,

Flowing liquid of extensive fright.


Streaking the curves on cushioned cheeks,

Seeking my daring demise that my existence has yet to reach.


Delicate are my eyes and so they do cry,

To kill the propelling depression that stares back in my reflection.


I cry because I do dare,
To strive for my release and redemption.