Synapse

A single moment was enough to create this
A retinal distraction when a scatter of light
Hits and forms an image
Perfection is the harshest term
The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse

Don't look at me
Don't look at me
It hurts

The neurons have fired
A torrential surge through the optic nerve
I can't find the words

The warmth of a body in an empty bed
When only the scent is left, only dissent is left

It's too late for rational sense, the neurons have fired

A single moment was enough to create this
A retinal distraction when a scatter of light
Hits and forms an image
Perfection is the harshest term
The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse

Don't look at me
Don’t look at me
It hurts