the bleak gaze.

his eyes are graves.
deep, lifeless hollows where light once lived,
there is no spark left,
just the heavy weight of knowing,
that the world will always fail him.

the sky bleeds behind him,
molten red and sickly orange,
yet his eyes remain gray,
drained of color, drained of feeling.
not cold, not even empty.
but dead.

he stares through the horizon,
through the explosion of heaven above him,
through the smoke curling at his feet.
his gaze does not search,
it does not hope,
it simply exists,
a glassy reflection of the inevitable.

his eyes are dead,
because to feel now
would be another betrayal.
to believe again
would be another wound.
so he lets his gaze rest in the abyss,
unblinking, uncaring.
already gone.