Her eyes blink with truth

"There are various eyes. Even the Sphinx has eyes: and as a result there are various truths, and as a result there is no truth."

~Friedrich Nietzsche

She stands alone,

lost in the trance of her bathroom mirror,

searching, hoping, tracing her face with her fingertips.

It is truth that she finds,

it is truth that stares back at her.

The long, angelic contours of her cheek

reminding her of someone

so tightly bound in her structure,

yet so distant and unfamiliar;

her nose like the button

beneath her father's on a collared shirt;

her plump lips like those of a child,

begging to tell her stories of the playground.

But it is her eyes that jolt her

like brand new wedding china crashing to the floor,

taking the breath out of her own lungs,

as the dam of suppression

breaks under pressure,

gushing all her years upon her head,

all the images tucked away inside her neurons,

all her moments of happiness bordering on mania,

all the times love poured from her iris's

into those who dared to look,

all the tears that have wrenched their way

out of the leaky faucet that is her soul,

all the faces she doesn't remember

but cannot forget.

It is her eyes,

open like shiny crystal balls,

that blink with truth

and light the room with all that only she

can ever know.

~Lola Rain