🌑 The Blackout 🌑

The screen fades to black. A heartbeat echoes-slow, steady, heavy. Then a voice:

"You don't know me. You don't know where I come from. You don't know what I carry."

The scene sharpens. Eyes lock. The air vibrates with silence, the kind that makes the hairs on your neck rise. The kind that warns you: something dangerous is standing in front of you.

This isn't anger that shouts. It isn't rage that flails.
This is control on the edge of breaking. This is a storm contained in a glass, one crack away from spilling over.

Someone smirks. Someone tests. Someone says the wrong words-"I get down."
And the world tilts. The blackout rises. The other self wakes up.

This poem takes you inside that moment-the shaking hands, the locked stare, the choice to turn away before the darkness swallows everything. It's the raw confession of what it means to inherit fury, to be born into fire, to live with a split inside you: one calm, one ready for war.

You'll walk the property line where fear doesn't exist. You'll feel the warning spoken with chilling calm: "Try me if you want to. You have been warned."
And you'll understand why respect isn't asked for-it's commanded.

This is not just poetry.
This is survival written in blood and memory.
This is the blackout no one wants to see, yet everyone will remember.

Stop scrolling. Step into the story.
Once you read it, there's no turning back.