My eyes are polyamorous, lingering and twisting,
playing tricks on my Sunday School heart.
They feed my brain the food it wants but doesn’t need.
Empty calories for empty Saturdays.
Alone, with dark hooded thoughts; talons that rip me open until
I’m that moment before catatonic and the one right after vulnerable.
I’ve seen these moving pixels dance one hundred times before,
But today I hope they’ll glimmer and glint just for me.
I’ll draw the lights in until that fateful day
When I carve my eyes clean out of my head.
Tyler Strittmatter 