Please Clap
She posted goodbye in cursive white,
Filtered tears melting in ring-light night.No calls came,
no knocks disturbed the gloom,
Her absence noticed only when her pulse left the room.Suddenly,
her face is everywhere, shared in digital remorse,
Every stranger posts “we were close,”While silence remains the
only force.Not a single message while she drifted out of view,
But her name trends now, every hour renewed.
He joked about the rope, lines tossed online,
Replies of “bro, there’s hope”—drowned out over time.Laughter faded,
silence swallowed the thread,
Someone found him after the world moved ahead.Now
every comment dresses up in digital grief,
Empathy performed, no real relief.The thread is a shrine, but memory is brief,
Pain reduced to stats, loss counted in motif.
You never saw her pain as flesh or real,Only pixels and shares,
pain made surreal.Her ghost appears, now currency in grief’s deal.
Please clap for the ones the crowd forgot—Count the likes,
tally every cost.They cried for help beneath your scroll,
Now their name is just a trending goal.Smile at their memory,
now that they’re gone,
Ignore the pleas when they needed someone.Their pain was a hashtag,
a quote you never knew,
It’s easy to mourn when it isn’t on you.
You shared the name to scrub your own guilt,Inbox left empty, cold,
and silt.They said “I’m fine,” and you knew it was untrue,You double-tapped,
then let them slip through.
This is not mourning—it’s market share,
Cosmetic pain, concern declared.The algorithm thrives on tears and blame,
Grief is data, sorrow is the game.Metrics surge as you post the shame,
Profit peaks every time there’s a name.
You never heard her voice, never saw his face,Branded them for likes,
erased the rest without a trace.Their stories commodified,
sympathy sold,Then the algorithm moves on, the grief turns cold.
Please clap for the ones who haunt your screen—Their absence polished, sanitized,
unseen.You called them brave,
called it grace,But never said it to their face.No love in this,
just curated despair,You wept for them only because they’re no longer there.
I indexed every eulogy, counted every phrase,Not a timestamp in sight
before the final phase.Mourning in hindsight,
never in time,You archive their pain—But you never cross the line.