Beneath the blue-white glow that stains the room, I tap the screen—a reflex, not a choice— While silence pools like ink in liquid gloom, And fractured headlines steal away my voice. One more. One more. The algorithm sings, A siren weaving sorrow into threads: The war that flares, the planet cracks, the springs Of hope run dry where no one plants new seeds. I watch the world in pixels burn and bleed— No distant storm, but close, too close to touch. Each tragedy a thorn in thought’s soft seed, Each outrage, poison I could never clutch. My thumb, a pendulum of dread and need, Swipes down the feed where shadows multiply. The clock dissolves. The morning starts to recede. I'm trapped inside this loop—I can’t deny. For in the ache, a twisted kind of peace: This pain is company that won’t let go. Detached, I’m spared the burden of release— Just watching storms where others have to row. Oh, cursed light—the flickering confession Of how we numb while drowning in connection. I scroll, not for the truth, but to confirm The quiet fear that coils beneath the skin: That love is frail, that justice wears a form Too thin to shield the chaos from within. And yet—this screen, this curse, this silent war— A single breath might break the spell I keep. I close my eyes. I lay the weapon down. And in the dark, I learn to fall asleep.