Unplugged Ritual

Screen goes blank—no signal, no spin,

the ritual gone silent before I knew.

Evenings folded flat,

a quiet missing where noise should have been.

The cursor blinks, patient and cold,

like a ghost waiting on a doorstep.

I reach for the habit,

find the gap—sharp,

uninvited,

a ghost in the wires.

No pause,

just the empty hum

where something

used to live.