The question seems simple to you.
Yes, with my eyes I can see
But never into my own do I peerSo, I ask this question: what color are my eyes?
I knew when I was a boy
I knew when I was a teenThen it all happened, and I forgot.
It started with the knife in my hand
It started with the dead body at my feet
It started with a sick satisfactionI felt a rush of pleasure beyond description.
Fulfillment of my darkest cravings
One thrust of my knife after another
Blood splattering and horrified screamsA life in my hands extinguished.
You'll call me a murderer
And you'll be correct
For I took a lifeFor the briefest of moments, panic consumed me.
What had I done?
Can it be undone?
Who had I become?Forgive me now for what I share.
Panic left me alone with my deed
His dead eyes looked directly at me
Stared at me in the wrong wayI carved them free from his head.
Ended that accusation he cast
Forth from his eyes
Never to plague me againYet, his were not the only ones.
More eyes tormented my soul
Leered at me in the wrong way
Pierced me with judgmentWhat else could I do?
My knife sang its song
Brought death to those
Who looked at me wrongNow you know my dilemma.
For what would happen
If I looked into my own eyes
the wrong way
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250 Words of Fear & Terror
HorrorTales of horror in precisely 250 words. Journey into tales of evil and malevolence. Prepare for a twist into despair. Feel the shivers rattling down your spine. For who knows what waits in for you in the darkness.