An eye I've drawn:
how odd it is.
Its not quite right,
though eerily real.
I strike it out
but still its there,
then scratch it more
and still it stares
through all the ink
I've blotted it,
she watches me;
she misses not
a thing I do,
a move I make,
though still she stays
or did she blink?
My very eyes
could not deceive:
in cold despise
she winked at me
through inky shade
and now she's made
fresh gloss as she
un-dilates:
an opening
film aperture
records my ware
so I move left
and swear I saw
penned color of
her iris move
in pursuit of
unstable me!
You see I've drawn
for me my own
Pygmalion,
whom in her
perfect beauty
haunts me:
her own artist
and creator...
and attempted
murderer!
Can I forgive
myself of this
unwanted act
and bring her back,
or am I doomed
to never see
her wink again
but only stare?