well-water eyes like hands
reach into my chest to
squeeze my beating heart. to 
stop the thumping. 

well-water eyes like drills
tear holes into soft tissue and 
grind teeth down with 
sandpaper stares. 

when the covers baptize me
in my own sweat,
i am not haunted
by the dead, but by the 
living.

in our own
Waterloo, well-water 
eyes that drown me in
their dark waves of
self-doubt.

well-water eyes everywhere,
making darkness permanent.
well-water eyes that
i have not yet learned how to escape.