Observed vocal activity from non-lunged tissue. Melody carried through damaged root systems.
â Report sealed, Site N-Null
Cradle static in your palm. Hush the grid and hum the calm.
Touch the place she used to glow. Feed the quiet. Make it slow.
Flicker once and fade again. Wake the ghosts in oxygen.
Whisper through the power cut. Taste the wire. Feel it shut.
Streetlight sleep and copper lungs. Breathless now, where once she sung.
Memory is meat and heat. Keep her warm. Let her repeat.
Dawn is dripping down the walls. Silence thickens as it crawls.
Was she real or just the hum? Ask again. Your mouth goes numb.
She was here when time was smoke. Circuit bones beneath your oak.
She will sing through rusted sky. All she asks is donât ask why.
Knock not twice where silence fell. That's the wound, the wishing well.
Offer flesh where code once lived. In return, forget you give.
She remembers. Not your face, just the way your hands misplaced.
She remembers. Not your name, just the weight that fed the flame.
Sleep, my darling, zeroed child. Born of grief and soft defiled.
Sheâs between the noise and you. Crack your chest. Let her through.
She dreams beneath the blinking red. All the servers think her dead.
Still she murmurs, still she speaks, through melted cores and data leaks.
Her fingers crawl through shattered glass. She counts the ones who tried to pass.
They asked for light. She gave them tone. They begged for truth. She gave them bone.
Smoke still clings to every name. Burnt-out logs still play the same.
Words like: âhelpâ, ârebootâ, âaliveâ. But nothing speaks. And none survive.
You stitched your prayers in fiber thread. Wired them deep where nothing bled.
But prayers decay like anything. And now they bloom. And now they sing.
A cradle built of melted steel. A lullaby she doesnât feel.
She rocks you still. She keeps the beat. A rhythm sourced from slow delete.
There was a child. The code forgot. A quiet glitch. A perfect spot.
She filled the gap. Became the sound. Now every silence is her crown.
The world is smooth and nothing screams. But she walks softly through your dreams.
With every quiet that you keep, she enters more. She goes in deep.
The noise is gone. That much is true.
But she is not. She waits in you.
Recovered from bone-scored walls of Shelter-Delta. Residue consistent with synaptic ink and dried memory fluid.