Stare me out

The last time I met your saucer eyes, I could feel them follow my every move, almost hear the cracked porcelain grind against the eye socket bone, Setting my fillings on edge, my nerves shredded by miniature rakes. But kept my own glare in its rightful place; my lids standing their guard. It pays once in a while to let your glances do the talking. Jon Butcher