Your Eyes.

You accuse me with your stare of crimes you've not seen. So sure of my sins that I am but a convict to punish at your feet. With your eyes. In a state of consternation, pregnant with a regret. Don't let blind torture drive the hand holding the cutting edge of our dysfunction. Come in close. The door, won't it beckon to flee, running with tears streaming digital tunes? Sad eyes playing to a blind headlong rush.