Eyes as round as painted rocks,
Curling at the edges, yet duller than before.
Where a reflection would normally lightly glean
There is stark darkness surrounded by deep blue.
As an ocean where the brightest light hardly touches.
At the center a perfectly black circle.
A great void, no human being could draw.
It pulses, slowly beating - expanding and contracting,
The striations of a thousand different shades of blue
Bulge and thin to the beat of a slowing heart.
It is angry, thick with black sludge that seeps out
As you stare at it, deep in thoughtless though.
A pulse perfectly even, thickening sludge.
The fear of what is lurking begins to risen heat in the veins
Turning hot red, hair on the back of the neck stands stiff.
Eyes widen, as the backwards thoughts scream run.
But it is all taboo, to see that evil thing.
Let it rise out and wreak chaos, starve everything.
Feeling of the blackness pouring out of it, thick slime,
Slightly coagulated and recurring back into itself.
A sludge soaked claw scratches at the edges of the center.
Pouring over into itself, crushing it's own creator.
Hastily, the fear itself takes over in violent shades color,
Piercing through the brain and forcing you to shut your own eyes
And turn away from the mirror.
Emily Beck's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (An EyeBall by Emily Beck )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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