Pockets filled with Grey Hair and Poetry

I still own my sad eyes,
They stare at me in reflections I attempt to avoid.

I talk them away,
And put them in my back pocket
With all my grey hair of regret.

I walk around blind to the world,
So I won’t have to catch a glimpse,
At the shadow controlling me.

I gaze through my shades,
and write a poetic interpretation about how I am merely dis assembling someone else.

The glimmer in my eye you see,
is something that only comes to fruition at peaceful interludes.

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