Eyes on a Page

Staring into white pupils, in between the margins,
Seeing the past, future, & present.
With words meant to make a image,
As visions sway into the mind like leaves in the wind,
Catching leaves in a net of creativity,
Silently the senses drift from reality.
Trying to find the words that I have never said or wrote,
Before I leave--nothing left but people's memories & pictures,
Or will the I be like the leaves I don't possess?
Here then gone the next moment.
Dismal like a black circle in a squared white room.
Assume, I failed the mission of life,
Or did I go out with a big bang that making the world theorize?
Because sometimes I feel all I have is a pen and paper,
While my heart remains lying against my sleeve, but distant like the frostbitten mountains outlining the horizon.
Eyes glued to destiny.
Those eyes on the page.
That look at me in happiness, but also rage.
in mourning, but also chipper.
Summoning me in the morning, but also the evening.
My world is my stage, and either way I have to perform.
But will I be a actor or will I be real?

Because the eyes you don't see, but you hear,
you don't feel them, but you feel me,
you don't know me, but you do.

Shrieking white noises in my earlobes, vibrating my veins,
Like a distorted T.V. with a blend of colorful & dull lights projecting across my face.

Blinking.

Flickering the V.H.S. tapes of the past.

Blinking like the eyes on the page.