Twelve Seconds To Obsolete
Card key still works on the door but my badge is gone from the sign
HR called it a “transition” while they sliced me out of the line
Sat me down in a glass box with a box already by the chair
Told me I’d be “moving on” while a script took over my share.
They rolled out this bright new model on a laptop in the hall
Manager smiled like Christmas, said “It can do it all
” Typed a couple sloppy prompts in
hit enter just for the effect
Watched a wall of perfect functions build the thing I used to protect.
Hook
I’m a laid-off coder watching my replacement spit code in a blink
Years of busted midnights crushed into one progress bar and a wink
If a machine can do in seconds what it took my life to learn
Tell me what the hell is left of me when all my bridges burn.
I still see that demo window when I close my eyes at night
Scrollbar flying like a meteor through my old birthright
All my comments, all my patterns
little tricks I used to save
Now they’re training data trails feeding something I can’t brave.
They said “You’re talented, this is only about the cost
” Funny how every comforting phrase tastes like “You’re just lost
” I carried this whole stack on my back through outages and fires
Now an interface with cute rounded edges wears my wires.
Hook
I’m a laid-off coder watching my replacement spit code in a blink
Years of busted midnights crushed into one progress bar and a wink
If a machine can do in seconds what it took my life to learn
Tell me what kind of faith survives when you watch yourself adjourn.
I used to joke we’d all be replaced by scripts if we lived too long
Thought I was being clever
thought the punchline made me strong
Now I’m standing on the sidewalk with a cardboard box of gear
Realizing every nervous laugh was just the future getting near.
LinkedIn glows on my phone with fake silver-plated cheer
“Congrats on your transition” from people who weren’t here
Job posts want ten years of wisdom at the pay of an intern’s start
And half of them whisper “bonus points if you automate your own part.”
I sit at a kitchen table where the paint peels off the trim
Open a blank new project just to see if I still feel the pull
Type a simple function header and watch my fingers hesitate
While that demo from the office hisses that I’m out of date.
I’m a laid-off coder watching my replacement spit code in a blink
Whole career turned into fodder for a model that does not think
If the value of a lifetime can be measured in machine churn
No wonder every coffee tastes like money I’ll never earn. I stash one last thumb drive in a drawer with old receipts and keys
Not code for the company
just shadows of who I used to be
Maybe I’ll build something quiet that no engine can replace
Till then I walk this wired-up world feeling half-erased.