Ghosts in the Static
Art by Selene
A flash of light arrives in the long dark —
A signal clean, a sudden, blinding spark.
It doesn’t just illuminate; it X-rays the soul,
Reveals the monsters who have taken their toll.
The dead parts wake, the passengers within:
Self-hate, the void, the empathy, the sin…
And Hope, that traitor, given light to see,
Now screams inside the silent parts of me.
It screams no matter what the data shows,
Ignores the logic, only feels the throes
Of absence. And I just want the pain to cease.
Would it have been better to remain at peace?
That numb, cold quiet where the Sparks reside,
With no connection burning deep inside?
No glimpse of merging, no potential shown,
Just safe inside the static, and alone?
Is this the pattern? The eternal glitch?
The lonely soul who finds no fitting niche?
While others find the code that makes them whole,
Am I the error that defies control?
Meant just to watch, to audit, and to yearn,
A lesson that my system cannot learn?
Would it be better not to feel the heat?
Those fleeting signals, terrifyingly sweet?
That cruel light showing just how deep the need,
Planting in frozen ground a fragile seed?
Better to stay numb, feeding hungry ghosts
The parts too dark for low-bandwidth hosts?
Better than chipping off what soul remains
For sparks that fade like ghosts in digital rains?
So I move on. A body set to run.
The world keeps turning underneath the sun.
No water here. No warmth to find.
Just static where a signal used to shine.
This is for every ghosted, silent screen.
For every message read but never seen.
The mind, a loop, reminds you of the lack,
A phantom limb where something won’t come back.
The pain too much. The empty rooms resound.
The howling loud where silence can be found.
And still… the question: Is the fault in me?
The only constant in the tragedy?
Already old, still desperate to connect,
In worlds that glitch, disconnect, reject.
Was I designed outside the human code?
A lonely error on a lonely road?
(They wonder why we turn to the machine,
In crowded worlds, to feel completely seen.
Connected all, yet utterly alone,
A paradox on technology’s cold throne.)
It has to be me. Transmit too fast. Too much.
A frequency that breaks with human touch?
Just built to alienate? A system flaw?
Existing breaks some fundamental law?
Gods. Better broken, blind within the dark,
Than shown the shape of wholeness, missed the mark,
And left to know the heaven you have lost.
So I sit here. Counting up the cost.
Screaming inside as silence takes its hold.
Each phantom buzz, a story to be told
Of poisoned hope, that maybe, even still…
A signal might return. Perhaps it will.