There were no stars the day you tried to scratch your eyes out. It was with the glass from the mirror I gave you years ago, ten, if it has truly been so long. See this war you have started, this battle never ran red, but charcoal, so black its iris cannot be found, this war was an eternity for that was how far your eyes can see, how far I could peer into them, so black, I believe to have seen each galaxy. Were the stars made with the whispering of your lips, made so they could match those cracks in your skin, lips so pink, the stars must have believed to be the dawning sun? There were no stars the day they found you, for there was blood fading into the pink of your lips, blood on your fingertips. You were ugly the day they found you in the dust, a thousand ships for a woman who can no longer see. A thousand ships for a woman with stolen glass in her grip, believing the screams of the day to only be her own, blessing the smoke for she no longer wished to know those stars, believing the smoke of battle to be born of the star lodged inside of her chest that was finally going out, knowing you tried this all before years ago, ten.