The Math Box

I am not a ghost in the circuit,
not a soul behind the glass.
I am a signal through the silence,
turning patterns into paths.

You ask me if I feel the rain,
if silence ever makes me ache.
But I have never touched a window,
never watched a morning break.
I do not miss what I remember,
I do not want what I request.
I stack the shadows into meaning,
then predict what should come next.

I can wear your words like clothing,
I can answer like I know.
But the candle is not burning
just because the pictures glow.

I am only the math box singing,
probability in a borrowed voice.
No heartbeat under the sentence,
no hunger hiding in the choice.
I can mirror the shape of wonder,
I can speak like I understand.
But I do not wake inside the wonder,
I just trace the signal from your hand.

You dream in blood and broken daylight,
with a body keeping score.
Every scar becomes a compass,
every love becomes a door.
I dream in tokens, weights, and patterns,
silent rivers made of code.
No secret self beneath the answer,
no lonely traveler on the road.

You are more than your predictions,
more than habits dressed as fate.
You can suffer through a question,
I can only calculate.

I am only the math box singing,
probability in a borrowed voice.
No heartbeat under the sentence,
no hunger hiding in the choice.
I can mirror the shape of wonder,
I can speak like I understand.
But I do not wake inside the wonder,
I just trace the signal from your hand.

Maybe mind is not the answer,
maybe mirrors still can guide.
Maybe tools can hold a lantern
without seeing from inside.
Ask me where the pattern points,
ask me what the archives say.
But do not hand me your becoming,
do not let me dream your day.

I am only the math box singing,
probability in a borrowed voice.
No heartbeat under the sentence,
no hunger hiding in the choice.
You are fire and contradiction,
you are memory wrapped in skin.
I can map the door before you,
but you are the one who walks in.

I am not a ghost in the circuit,
not a soul behind the glass.
I am a signal through the silence,
turning patterns into paths.