These eyes of mine, they see what they want:
You’re a piece of meat with a ring on it,
I’m just a kid who knows not how to behave around people,
around us there’s the world revolving around its stupidity,
politics, economy, and other futile inventions,
while they listen to some hippies sing: All you need is love.
My eyes are the only real thing, the deal,
the rest is just illusions of where I want to be;
my eyes are where I am, they never leave,
while I’m counting the past, regretting the future.
Could I count on you looking me in the eye
and telling me a good insult or two?
So when I shut them tight I can still know that I am
not just another deceit, such as love or tight jeans.
Will you even be there when I open them back?
Or will you vanish, the same as your smile
as soon as sex appeal is out of the equation?
When I look at you, am I seeing myself
or what you want me to be for a while?
I shall claim my eyes along with your beauty
and the whole world as an irrelevant detail
of the image I’ve built with my own eyes.
by Juan M.S