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You were even more beautiful 
with those manic eyes, so bright 
and refulgent, I never dared 
think a more beautiful grey, 
and even when you stared 
at me with such distaste and— 
hate, I couldn’t help, in frustration, 
but love you, and I still do, 
though I haven’t met with your soul 
in quite some time; it makes me wonder—
was it ever just your eyes, 
or the damaged soul I saw inside, 
that made me love you more 
than I ever thought to love myself.

Christopher Cassetty

Mania, and her Beautiful Countenance