Why are you so gorgeous? When I look at your face, flesh so pale and skin so soft from that accursed mask you hide yourself in. Silently, I think I feel special or some crap, because I am one of the very few who can see and touch your face.
But then you move just a little, and I see that scar that adorns your eye and I already know what's underneath that eyelid. You've told me before how you got it and all I can think is that that isn't your eye. It's not you; it doesn't belong to you. It unnerves me how it analyzes my every move; how it swirls and turns, watching and calculating. Sometimes, it feels like someone else is watching me and it feels so cold.
As I pry my gaze away from you, I can't help but smile bitterly at these thoughts that haunt my mind. You are dangerous. You are lethal and I wonder if one day you will ever plunge the knife into me when my back is turned. Perhaps you'll twist the blade for fun, then pull it out to watch my blood run thick. Perhaps… perhaps not.
I turn to look at you again and I am in awe as the pale moonlight falls upon your sleeping form and I notice how it highlights your silver hair. If only you weren't so fucking gorgeous.