Hazel-green Cyclones

The kids around me have trouble understanding
that one day the world is going to end
and they'll no longer be around.
Their skin glows a fluorescent pink
and their eyes never quake
like there are waterspouts in their irises.
Their teeth are pearly,
such pretty things,
and their fingernails are trimmed
and shining.
Their hair is like grazing fire,
soft and delicate and so bright.
It eats me up and carbonates me.
Look at this charred body,
so small and weak like a burnt salamander.
Look at that ugly nose
and scarred pale skin.
It looks like a little ghost!
The hair is too thin,
lips too white,
teeth like mustard,
and gasp!
Those dark circles!
Tsk tsk,
poor thing will never be loved,
so why does it smile?
Oh, I see.
Those hazel-green cyclones,
so wild and wondrous.
Are they not glass?
Such beauty on such scum,
can it be?
What is it?
Why did I not see it before?
Were my eyes closed
or did theirs simply open?