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Sometimes I become aware of how my eyes hurt, a constant scratch behind the sockets of my skull. It’s like somethings back there eating away at them, scraping with a chisel until there’s nothing left and I’m blind to everything. 

I had to stop sewing earlier because I thought about taking the needle to it, peeling away the cornea and fishing it through the hole of my pupil till that particular itch is gone, till the sticky, hard plaque of my dreams that rot away my macula is all cleaned out. Even if my eyes were gone I’d be able to see the truth more than ever before because my thoughts and daydreams wouldn’t be able to seep into them and worm their way into reality.