What Color Are My Eyes?

A Question I Ask Because I Won’t Look For Myself

The question seems simple to you.

Yes, with my eyes I can see
But never into my own do I peer

So, I ask this question: what color are my eyes?

I knew when I was a boy
I knew when I was a teen

Then it all happened; I forgot.

It started with the knife in my hand
It started with the dead body at my feet
It started with a sick satisfaction

I felt a rush of pleasure beyond description.

Fulfillment of my darkest cravings
One thrust of my knife after another
Blood splattering and horrified screams

A life in my hands extinguished.

You’ll call me a murderer
And you’ll be correct
For I took a life

For the briefest of moments, panic consumed me.

What had I done?
Can it be undone?
Who had I become?

Forgive me now for what I share.