Silence Black Ball 8

It sits on the silver cuboid, in the transparent box.
Eyes on me each time I nap, waiting me to pick it up, but
I don’t, even
I know.
Thus it sits again, like always, waiting me to play it up, but
I don’t see it today, the black Ball 8, where it goes?
I don’t know.
Thus the day begins again, like everyday, even
without it.