My whole life I was told my eyes were dark,
Like the nighttime sky with a firework spark.
Like the deep, cool rolling of the sandy ocean floor,
Like the sleek, ripe wine that slithers by the pour.
But what many don’t know is what these eyes see at night,
When the air gets cold and I turn off the light.
Because I see all the sadness that lingers through the air,
And I am pelted by this feeling where it’s impossible to bare.
Every moonlight is a cry for a rope,
Laced against my roof with its screams of lost hope.
Maybe I’m crazy or it’s all in my head,
Or maybe nobody will care until someone is dead.