When the last spark flickers out,
walls press in, tight as breath,
and voices rise like a tide,
streets pulsing with cold, empty light;
sharp, electric, devouring the night.

Control drifts away like smoke,
thanks dissolve into ash,
and the void crashes down,
heavy against open hands.

Shadows dance just out of reach,
tears spill, probing the dark,
seeking the echoes of laughter
where once
something warm used to blaze.

-s