in a final flash the grand eye closed

more than a sunset
this was a culmination
    of an era
        the expiration of an epoch
           the ultimate reckoning
                                                     of slow karma
           it could've all ended so violently
           justifiably
but this end was a
  streak of lightening
   ---thin and illuminating
      here     then   not

man grimaced at reconciliation
beyond his means and outside of
his favor
  in the brain the end is much simpler
       a hurricane with no center
         an eye with no pupil
       a tragedy the size of a heart

the grand eye will open again
    even if we aren't sighted
small magicians raise their eyebrows
at science above their understanding

I been wandering aimless
and peeping the synchronicities
I been reading other's words
and deciphering my truth
I been tutoring the youth
and learning from their mentorship
I been slinking out               [of relation-ships]
and treading in myself
I been sitting in silence
and feeling through the noise
I been abstaining from my vices
but creating new distractions
                                                    ­  I been making new playlists
                                                      a­nd blending the genres
                                                      I been triple checking accounts
                                                      an­d noting the trends
                                                      I been avoiding top priorities
                                                      ­and focusing on side quests
                                                      I been writing off the future
but deepening in the now
I been sharing the best of me
while keeping solitude with my shadows
I been becoming my higher self
day by
              day
                      by day
curating a person I can be proud of
                                                              ­ /proud for
I been
and will be

to a forest
a single tree is
but a limb

here in this soil
        between acorn and oak
I have buried my accomplishments
in another dream
          that in my demise
          they may still flourish

5am,
snuffed between the fingers of the day
slumming stars and a night not fully broken,
the waking world, its petals still to open
is filled with silent promises unspoken

Your tongue,
a blade that remembers
where I am softest,
where the scar tissue is thinnest.
You wield it without hesitation.

You ask for acceptance
as if I owe it
to the thing that has hollowed me out,
made me flinch at shadows,
left me raw and singing
with wounds I did not choose.

Sorrow has blackened the horizon.
The future—
a thing I used to believe in—
is now a quiet ache
that hums under my skin.

I flinch at your sarcasm.
It’s a whip,
a steady rhythm of harm
I cannot outrun.

And the problem you refuse to see—
it is breathing.
It is alive.
It soars above me like a black kite,
leaving me marked in ways
I can never explain.

I search for home
as though it’s a place that exists,
a place that will hold me
without splintering.

But you—
you crown yourself in their love
while their laughter
cuts you from behind.
Every sacrifice I make
is a ghost.

You hand them my offerings,
giving them weight they do not deserve.
And here I stand,
naked of hope,
bare of safety,
still whispering your name
like a prayer
to a god who doesn’t answer.