Late-stage, hopeless, dehumanizing
is the ugliest thing
or can conceive.
Bright-eyed, awestruck, newfound
To meet eyes,
to grieve for what they’ve yet to see
and can’t conceive
since at the start, it’s merely harmless,
Then that moment peaks and passes—
Christ, does it go fast—
and by the time they see
it’s long past way
To meet those eyes
might well kill me.
It’s an awful thing.