Dead Eyes

It was then when I was three,
when my eyes began to bleed.
Gunpowder filled the air,
and I was young and free of care.

I remember a light,
shining so bright,
making the night sky that of the sun,
there hadn't been time to run.
It was an accident I know,
but my sight...
never again would grow,
to repair,
forever impaired.

At least that was what I was told.
But at sixteen lo' and behold!
A donor was ready,
and my heartbeat was unsteady.

Little did I know,
these new eyes of mine,
though bright gold they do shine,
are but the eyes of the dead,
and they make me see things,
things that I dread.

A dotted line upon the necks,
of every person close to their last breath.
A dotted line all perfect to cut,
a secret I must keep,
it's just...

There are things others can't see,
and they keep looking back at me.