The Eye That Saw Too Much

The Eye That Saw Too Much

It blinked open and refused to close,

seeing everything I tried to hide,

its gaze sliding through walls, through doors,

through the fragile masks we call faces.

I turned, hoping to escape,

but it followed, patient, unyielding,

reflecting truths I had buried,

laughing silently at the shadows of my lies.

The world became sharp edges,

colors that burned, shapes that moved,

and I felt my mind splinter,

each thought pierced by its endless stare.

Sometimes I saw it in mirrors,

sometimes in photographs I hadn’t taken,

and I knew I would never sleep,

for the eye had made a home inside my skull.

Even when I closed my own eyes,

it lingered behind my lids,

watching, remembering,

never blinking, never leaving.