The night, no longer walks;
It sits on the system’s knee, named “Background.”
Time’s skin quietly peels away, for every inch shed,
There’s a loser, falls forgotten by the daylight.

They are silent, they are dips behind the numbers —
The echoes spit out by algorithms, tools once used by victory.

You open eyes in the night, and light is the absent character in the play.
You were told you once had it, but do you know,
That you are just the last falling piece,
To fill the ending, to maintain the constant…

Refusing any shake not written in the script.