The Singularity

It is hindsight that creates my vision.

Hindsight that swallows these saturnine words of mine.

Hindsight that has inadvertently created the end

To this little universe. To this. To me.

/

The world no longer dreams in pinks and blues

But exhales harsh orange, feeds on brilliant white.

Empty black is left in the middle,

Warping out into a strange sphere that haunts the sky.

/

My personal event horizon.

Crafted by black webs of lies and the microscopic truths

Spattered like bullet wounds across my back.

I ride the shockwave toward the red curve of dying light.

/

The gaping maw of the ultimate end

Pulls the thin, glimmering light from my thoughts.

The vacuum drones and the water dries.

What's there to mourn if it's already all gone?

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Silver Serpent Books

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