Just some words running through my head last night. NOT how I was feeling.
Eyes, windows to his soul. Staring back at him from the mirror. Blue, and flecks of green when the light is at the right angle.
They’re so tired. Wide awake, but tired of what they see.
Look deeper.
There’s anger on the outside of the cornea. Or is it fear?
Red, spidery lines stretch out to the corners. Drops will fix that. It’ll clear everything right up.
Mask the fatigue. The anger.
The fear.
A knock at the door. A voice.
“You’re on in two minutes. It’s a packed house. Hope you’re ready.”
He isn’t.
But no one paid to hear the clown sing happily, now, did they?
The Bloody Doors Off 
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