My blood shot eyes burrow themselves into the rugged fabric of my pillow.
I lay here
motionless
I tell myself that I will be OK,
that I will get through this-
but how much can the heart handle when my eyes match the color of my heart.
My eyes sting –
but nothing like the sting my heart has just endured.
nothing.
Maybe my bloodshot eyes only bother me because it’s a physical sign that something
something is wrong,
that I’m not OK –
but maybe not being OK is
OK.