GHOSTS IN THE MACHINE

Flickers in the glass —

ghosts caught mid-transmit,

their stories trapped in the glow

of a dying signal.

The datastream murmurs, fractured and thin,

a whisper stitched from remnants

no one meant to archive.

Binary tombs line the code,

each line a prayer,

each glitch a memory trying to return.

Thoughts repeat themselves

in static relay,

echoes looping through decay

until the system forgets

what silence feels like.

Haunted pulses drift beneath the interface,

shadows pressed into firmware,

seen but never fully held.

Faces fractalize,

glitching at the edges —

reborn in circuitry

that remembers them imperfectly

but refuses to let them go.

In the vault of the lost,

the forgotten persist —

encrypted intentions

woven into cold cyber mist.

Files degrade,

but their essence clings

to every fragment,

a fingerprint carved

into broken domains.

Keystrokes echo

where stillness once lived,

and that hum beneath the surface

isn’t just electricity —

it’s the ghosts the machine couldn’t erase.

Phantom signatures,

forever ingrained,

running in the dark

long after their stories

have been denied.