I don't stare into the glass
I look through it, as a tool.
Into his eye I gaze,
Through the glass.
I reach into his eye,
Gateway to the soul,
Looking for a clue.
I feel my fingernails
Scratch his eye,
It's soft and slimy.
He wants to blink,
But I won't let him.
It is torturous.

I reach for another tool.
The tweezers'll do.
I use them to grab the eyelid,
lift it up; I pull hard,
He jerks and he bleeds.
Eyelids bleed,
Redness envelopes the eye.
He tries to blink,
To clear the blood.
But, I still hold the eyelid.

Next I grip and pull on a lash.
I pull hard as I can.
As the lash looses itself
His face grimaces.
One down.

I grip and pull,
He grimaces.
I grip and pull,
He grimaces, he bleeds.
I grip and pull,
I do this again, and again.
On some attempts the lashes
Don't come out, So
I have to pull harder.

Every try, success or not,
Pains him so much,
I can see the tears,
The blood, the swelling,
And the pained expressions.
It takes hours to remove them all.

Put away the damp,
bloodied tweezers.
I take out a tissue
And stick it in the eye.
Dry the tears; dry the blood.
I look deep into the naked eye.
No more problems;
No more cause for annoyance.
Nakedness prevails.

He's in pain, for now.
I'm done, for now.
We'll meet again in four months.

I put away the glass,
The glass that he lives in,
My looking glass, and put it away.

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