The Consequences

The hardest truth was that I painted their lenses so opaque at a young age that it was hard to clean the glass. Not even chemicals could wash away the years of fear, and pain, and torment I turned into rage and teeth. So maybe I can try to crack it, but then they still can't see. Now each piece of me is fractured, the splinters stuck in their eyes. Glue only blurs between the fissures, only fogs the surface and every intention with it. Perhaps I could chip the layers, but each color is fused in place. I was the one who wielded the iron, so I can hardly blame the disgrace. Then I get the sander, but that only leaves deep scratches I can't buff out. Though now that I look closer, it was my bite that left the deepest cuts.

Of course there is a simpler answer.

But that may never do.

To remove the frames of plastic and see the woman in front of you.

Then again, you might just be safer if you never take them off.

-The Consequences