Synapse

A single moment was enough to create this:
a retinal distraction when a scatter of light
hits and forms an image.
Perfection is the harshest term.
The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse.

Don't look at me.

Don't look at me, it hurts.

The neurons have fired:
a torrential surge through the optic nerve...
I can't find the words.

The warmth of a body in an empty bed...
When only the scent is left, only dissent is left.

A single moment was enough to create this:
a retinal distraction when a scatter of light
hits and forms an image.
Perfection is the harshest term.
The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse.

Don't look at me.

Don't look at me, it hurts.

The neurons have fired:
a torrential surge through the optic nerve...
I can't find the words.

The warmth of a body in an empty bed...
When only the scent is left, only dissent is left.
It's too late for rational sense
The neurons have fired
A single moment was enough to create this:
a retinal distraction when a scatter of light
hits and forms an image.
Perfection is the harshest term.
The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse.

Don't look at me.

Don't look at me, it hurts.