My eyes are tired of seeing the sun.

I'm blinded by the glorious light.

I cannot bear to look around,

for even when I cannot see what

is right in front of my face,

I can see more in the light of day

than in the dark of night.

.

I am tired

of seeing all the shadows in the

morning, or the feeling the darkness

in the mourning.

.

I am tired

of all of the fractures of light streaming

in thought the window pane,

burning my retinas and causing me pain.

.

The light hurts so much more than the dark.

.

I am tired

of falling asleep when she wakes up,

of wishing that I didn't see a ghost in his face,

of missing the comforting blackness of

my youth, when I could hide

from the crowds in the dark

bathroom stalls, where I couldn't even

see my memories with my eyes open.

.

I am tired

of missing the moonlight, for it is the only

light that doesn't burn my core,

of missing the starlight,

cause I sure do miss talking to God,

of sunrise, and sunset,

for colours hurt less than

white light,

and black was never really

my favourite colour.

.

It used to be green.

And then it was purple.

And then it was blue.

And then it was you,

even if your smile used to hurt my eyes.