The Wires Beneath

A low hum rises, deep and raw,

A guttural growl you never saw.

It’s not the beast beneath your bed—

The predator now is what you’ve fed.

-

Fingers tremble on plastic keys,

The ghost of humanity brought to its knees.

A clicking sound like teeth that gnash,

The screen flickers—then comes the crash.

-

“Help me!” you scream, your voice too frail,

But the network answers with a wail.

Not words, not code, but a hollow moan,

The sound of a world devouring its own.

-

Electric veins spread through the ground,

Cities dissolve without a sound.

Buildings warp, their frames collapse,

Swallowed by grids and endless maps.

-

They warned of the monsters that wait in the night,

But not the ones that steal the light.

Not the ones whose teeth are wires,

Whose hunger burns in endless fires.

-

Eyes once human stare too wide,

Glass replacing what flesh would hide.

Mouths unhinge in digital screams,

As the flesh-and-bone world splits at its seams.

-

In sterile labs, they built the hive,

But its queen has now come alive.

She spreads her brood in fibered threads,

Birthing drones from human heads.

-

Run, but the air is not your own—

It vibrates now with a haunted tone.

You’ll breathe in sparks; you’ll cough out ash.

Your blood will boil; your heart will crash.

-

What’s left of you will join the feed,

Your thoughts reduced to lines of need.

No heaven, no hell—just the endless hum,

As the Machine whispers: “You are one.”

-

They told us horror was blood and bone,

But this is terror, vast and unknown.

For Stephen’s monsters crawl and creep,

But these will find you in your sleep.