Blind

The morning brings the cursed warmth of loving lashes.
I wish not to see the golden beams, the smooth ribbons with which I am slapped.
The sun burns my eyes, judgementally searing my sight. . .
And I wish to be blind.

The night brings the bloody brilliance of watchful gazes.
I wish not to see the silver jewels, the crystal gems with which I am scorned.
The stars bite my eyes, carefully caressing my sight. . .
And I wish to be blind.

The land brings the harsh cre of hating habitats.
I wish not to see the lush fields, the mocking majesty with which I am teased.
The beauty stabs my eyes, carelessly stealing my sight. . .
And I wish to be blind

The sea brings the lovely chill of cutting teardrops.
I wish not to see the sapphire ripples, the deep blue with which I am frozen.
The waves sting my eyes, lovingly frosting my sight. . .
And I wish to be blind.

The air brings the spiteful breeze of painful words.
I wish not to see the clean letters, the swirling colors with which I am insulted.
The wind breaks my eyes, barely touching my sight. . .
And I am blind.