Stream of Consciousness

I remember a time when I looked into your eyes your eyes your eyes and I feared you and your strength and your power and your heat and your heart. But then I looked through the dusty glass of your eyes; the thick grime of ages caked on until it was almost opaque and there I saw that you were in pain and you feared me. Me the child the innocent because you are what you are and you cannot change but I can. I can because I have a child’s eye and so I see I see I see. I see not truth but wonder; not harshness but strength; not coldness but beauty and I am frightened. There is an innocence that makes me frightable and all that frightened you was my eyes; was my innocence and you made it worse as you screamed and shied away and hid your thoughts and your face and your eyes. I’d cry but now I can’t. I can’t cry again because you took that away too. But my innocence! I can’t cry because you fear me and I can no longer fear you. I see your pain and your pain and your eyes. I am innocent but without tears no tears no eyes can I see can I change without my magnifying glass eyes my marble stained eyes my innocent precious eyes have no tears you stole my tears but I see and I’m scared and I want to go home.


About E

Even as a child, I read voraciously. Writing has always been a natural outlet. Sometimes bordering on macabre or edgy, I was not always safe and even today I look at some of my writing and raise an eyebrow. Read me at your own risk. I am but a 30-something professional (don't ask a professional what, for I won't answer!) who spends nights as a dreamer and sometimes writer.
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