I write this in the eye of the spiral,
Where every thought is gospel
And every whisper is war.
Where sleep is for the sane,
And I?
I haven’t met sanity in days.

I built kingdoms out of caffeine and chaos,
Prophesied truths at 3 a.m.
Scribbled scripture on sticky notes
And left them like prayers
On the altar of my kitchen counter.

I am brilliance undone.
A floodlight in a room of candles,
Burning too bright,
Too fast,
Til even the shadows weep.

This is my testament—
My confession wrapped in fire.
If I crash,
Let the wreckage teach you something.