clone riggy and sonic

The screen hisses. Time — a crackle.
Snow of dots, the tape’s cold breath.
A face appears — then vanishes,
As if recalling someone’s death.

Tape rustles, the sound turns hoarse,
A squeal — childlike, but not alive.
You press “stop” — yet still, of course,
The frames keep crawling, half-alive.

In every click — a forgotten home,
In every frame — a stranger’s eye.
You look inside, and there’s a hum,
A black stream moving, slow and sly.

And if you dare — rewind the line,
To mark
Someone whispers, “Don’t turn off…”
And the tape begins to weep — unseen.