My Red Eyes

 

My eyes, like embers of a dying fire,

Born from the salt-laced rivers of my despair.

A quarrel—sharp as shattered glass—

Still etches wounds too deep to pass.

Was it love, once sacred, now decayed?

Or dreams I built, so carefully, betrayed?

Perhaps the lie, a serpent in our grass,

Or torture's grip I couldn’t outlast.

Some wounds, I know, are bought with tongues,

Poisoned whispers where malice clung.

Then came the crimson tides I drew,

From bottles cloaked in midnight hue.

A fiery solace, dusk through dawn,

A haze to numb what once shone strong.

In anger’s grip, my thoughts ran wild,

A storm inside, no longer mild.

Each gulp I took, a silent plea—

To drown the demons chasing me.

But clarity slipped far from shore,

And left me shadows, nothing more.

And yet, at times, these eyes ignite,

With raw desire, no will to fight.

A primal gleam I can’t deny,

That burns beneath a moonless sky.

When kindness fades and masks are torn,

When all that's human stands forlorn,

My gaze—relentless, sharp, and true—

Becomes a predator breaking through.

Sometimes in dreams, they twist, divide,

And watch me from the dark inside.

Reflections born from fears I keep,

That haunt me even in my sleep.

A phantom gaze, a spectral hue—

Red eyes that see the worst I do.

They mark the lines I cannot hide,

The darkness I still hold inside.