Analytical Eyes

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul but my eyes are not stained glass cathedral panes, no my eyes MY EYES . . . my eyes are calculators my analytical eyes revealing a frightened little girl always watching her surroundings with her windows her analytical eyes and I hope they realize my eyes, my dull slate grey panes, it all stems from pain, stained with blood not pigmented sand I hope they realize, and, they see, through their cathedral panes, the little girl whose eyes now only help her, not to see, but to Analyze.