Expired Credentials

I just wanted to see that film about the ice,

the one where everything is quiet and blue.

But the screen is a flat, unblinking device

asking for money I haven't got for you.

The email said 'thanks for the years of trust,'

right as they locked the digital door.

Now the loading circle is gathering dust,

a white loop spinning on the hardwood floor.

I can see it reflected in the lens of my glasses,

a small, glowing ghost of a thing I can’t have.

The night gets long as the bandwidth passes,

and there isn't enough of a memory to save.