Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and co., I do not care for the money or I do not want those characters, I'll leave the work for J.K Rowling while I write the opposite of things.
delirium
\De*lir"i*um\, n. [L., fr. delirare to rave, to wander in mind, prop., to go out of the furrow in plowing; de- + lira furrow, track; perh. akin to G. geleise track, rut, and E. last to endure.] 1. (Med.) A state in which the thoughts, expressions, and actions are wild, irregular, and incoherent; mental aberration; a roving or wandering of the mind, -- usually dependent on a fever or some other disease, and so distinguished from mania, or madness.
iWatching him./i
There was nothing amazing about his eyes. They were like all other eyes, a solid black pupil and an oppressed iris. Nothing impressive. It couldn't be understood how people overrated his eyes. As dark as a newborn emerald and always alive with life, they perched as if they knew. But once a second look was taken they were just eyes, staring right back at you. No breath-taking sigh was to be released; no false swoon was to be felt. They were eyes, just eyes.
Then his hair was always overestimated. Unruly tuffs of raven black hair. As if raven black hair were to exist for the sole purpose of such a perfect boy. It was not black, not raven colored, not solid dark color of black, just dark brown, simple brown. Nothing special, maybe it wasn't soft as they said, or maybe it was coarse to the touch like unclean stones. It was hair, a mop of dark brown hair. No sparkling strands of blackness dominated that curved head.
When he walked there wasn't a golden carpet spread over the floor. The floor wasn't blessed with his foot-steps. There were no wings spread from his back to name him the savior. Nobody ever said that he really was supposed to save the world. Too bad he was only a boy, born with a name already making him grown-up.
iBeing him./i
They didn't understand, but he didn't care. Was he supposed to be questioning god? What if he wasn't transported to heaven like he was supposed to? If he were to be real in the phase of deja-vu, would anyone truly care if he were just another schizophrenic sinner?
What if he became the new dark lord, would they finally realize that he was a fucking human and not some arch-angle?
Maybe, as it is told in short clichés, you never know.
We wait. They wait. He gets tired. The sins are falling everywhere, they don't seem to care, than neither will he. Bipolar feelings of this earth make him question his sanity. Why me why me? Why not some other boy with fake black hair and broken eyes, why him?
What to feel, what to do, am I being good or am I evil?
Should I change myself for you like this body owns your hold
My mind can't find yours in this mess where I walk on water and you sink
Can you find me in this pathetic glory on boxed shoes and frozen hair
I don't care because even when the stars are falling I'll be holding you hand
Pucker up your lips and let me slid back to false fantasy
The moon doesn't shine only your eyes hold me closed inside your warm eyes
iHe saw./i
Emotion. You always held emotion. In your eyes, I saw what was to be. Before you jumped from your cliff, I saw the truth.
In the end, they were right. Your eyes were always special when they're dead.