Digital Scaffold
A crowd, a spark, and the erasure that follows.
Someone points.
A million bloom…
teeth, heat,
no faces.
First: the gag.
Then: the taking-apart.
Your name flayed
into bright ribbons.
They wear it
like celebration.
The crowd believes
it is holy.
A single spark
and they rise
as one animal,
one hunger.
No one asks
who loaded the silence.
No one asks
why the fire burns
before the match falls.
The scaffold…
endless, digital,
a light that erases.
You vanish
before your scream
remembers itself.
And the one who pointed?
Gone.
Smoke slipping back
into shadow.
Flickers of a million eyes
held at arm’s length,
hands pale,
unburned.
— UpsilonA