The Laboratory of Eyes
Rows of blue, floating in glass,
nerve endings curled like dead roots.
No lids to close, no tears to shed—
just vision, raw and waiting.
The doctor moves between them,
white coat whispering at his heels.
He lifts a jar, turns it slow,
watches the eye watch back.
Some were stolen in sleep,
some torn from the heat of a scream.
Each one frozen in its last sight—
a splinter of moon, a knife’s dull glint,
a face that never saw them go.
The air is still. The doctor listens.
The eyes do not blink, do not weep,
but something in them remains—
watching him, watching everything.
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.