The ocean-blue of my eyes are a playground

or a death wish fulfilled.

My soul pours out as a waterfall,

splashing cold, sobering torrents of surface tension

into the warm, still air,

disrupting the peace of  inanimate nature.

Come swim inside of me,

float around until the storm comes,

and then flail in the tidal waves of my consuming hatred

in an attempt to survive and maybe find your way home.

Nobody ever makes it home whole again,

my soul weakens those it does not kill,

and most with mortal wounds as my Spawn always hungers.

I always eat,

always consume,

always am.

You will feel the warm injection of my embrace,

the heat crawls down the back of your neck like the first hit of a

steaming hot shower

launching  pain into your nerves that you tell your soul will soon be fine.

Your soul will stop squirming soon

and it is too late anyways,

as you will crawl home or we will die together,

rotting,

decaying,

returning to our choiceless, freedomless nature.

Behind the glass wall of my eyes is a killing field

many have fallen into it

and I feast on souls.