When the cobra strikes. (done...?)

His eyes are unlike any blue I’ve ever encountered before, a blue of the ocean, but with a wild, terrible storm that rages within, threating to break any given second, to never let up. Their haunting, mesmerizing, suspenseful even. They live in my days, haunt their way into my nightmares, and love their into my heart. Within those eyes stands a war, a war of which one never wants to face. A war between right, and wrong, love and hate.

And somehow I always seem to get caught just in the middle, the storm tearing, and beating me. The war slapping, and wounding me, leaving me shameful and helpless.

I don't want to get caught in the middle, I don't want to be the source.

Not again, not in the least.

I'm always telling myself how I'll walk away, let go. It just never happens.

It never happens for the simple fact that I can't.

I can't bare to let that face, those eyes go. To let my love, my heart go. I can't bare it because I'am weak, but I'm in love, is my excuse each time. Each time the cobra strikes.

-I think I may just leave this like this?