The action of seeing implies having one’s eyes open. So, don’t tell me you see through my lies when my fake breathe you can’t perceive, when my bleeding smile you don’t notice. Seeing implies having one’s eyes open.
Solid eyelids fabricating feeble human frames that bend in the storm, hiding unused eyeballs bathing in chloroformed thoughts.
Please, don’t try to say you see me, friend, when it’s obvious your eyes have been closed for oh so long you don’t even remember what your soul looks like.
Some things you just can’t hide, some things you just can’t fake. Your blindness is apparent in that pretty make up that disguises your lids.