The Boy With No Eyes

I once had a nightmare. A boy, dressed in torn clothing and ruffled hair stood across a dirty road, staring into my being. He had no smile, and he had no eyes. Simply small sockets, drenched in blood, where his eyes should of been. he wasn't menacing, or even lethal, it seemed. But his presence felt sharp and powerful. It didn't not move, nor did it speak. It was oblivious to anything in the world except for me. Except for who I am, as if it could disect my very soul, extract my being from space and time. Or control me, force me to do its biding. Yet it seemed to care, to need me, and I questioned myself as to what, prepared to fight in fear and unknowing that all of mankind suffers dearly from.
I have now realized one thing. I am that boy. I am oblivious to the world at times, and care not but for what happens to me as an ultimate outcome. My goals are narrow, and dangerous. Paths I choose, I can so easily be lead away from. Yet I control myself in an effort to unknowingly force myself into forgetting how to live. To work like a heartless machine that knows not emotion. This is what I am becoming,
I am becoming the boy with no eyes.