[A sharp, icy synth pad swells up—it sounds like wind whistling through a cracked window. Suddenly, a fast, skipping garage-style drum beat kicks in, keeping a high-tempo energy even though the mood is heavy.]
(Female Vocals)
I woke up and there was actual frost on the inside of the bedroom glass today.
The yard looks completely dead. Just white and stiff.
You knocked on the door at noon exactly, right when you said you would.
You didn’t even look at my face when I opened it. You just stood there with two flattened cardboard boxes under your arm and a giant roll of packing tape.
[A deep, heavy 808 bass drops in—it’s sub-heavy, rolling smoothly underneath the quick, skittering percussion.]
We didn’t even say hi.
(Female Vocals)
Watching you take your books off the shelf and wrap your stupid coffee mug in newspaper feels like watching a movie on mute.
The sound of that packing tape tearing is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. Just rip, rip, rip over and over.
You left the closet door wide open, and the rack looks so huge now that your jackets aren't crowding my clothes.
I thought I’d feel mad seeing you touch my things, but my chest is just totally numb.
It’s like when you stay outside too long without gloves and your fingers stop working.
It doesn’t actually hurt until you go back inside. Right now, it’s just frozen.
[The skipping drums drop out, leaving just a heavy, rhythmic bass pulse that sounds like a slow heartbeat.]
[Guest Male Rapper]
I didn't want to come back here, honestly.
I kept putting it off, telling myself I didn't need the rest of my clothes, but my brother kept asking when I was getting my junk out of his hallway.
It feels so weird walking through this door. Everything smells like you, but the air is completely different. It feels dead.
I saw the gray hoodie on the kitchen table. Thanks for not throwing it in the trash.
I wanted to ask how your mom was doing, or if you ever got that weird noise in your car fixed, but you're just standing by the sink with your arms crossed, staring at the linoleum like I’m a burglar.
I guess I am. I’m stealing the last pieces of whatever we had left.
I tape the boxes shut, pick 'em up, and they feel way lighter than they should. Three years of my life packed into two Home Depot boxes. It’s pathetic.
I reach for the doorknob, and my hand is shaking so bad I can barely turn the metal. I want to turn around and say something—anything—to make you actually look at me. But your face is just a blank wall.
[The skipping garage percussion hits back in full force, accompanied by a soaring, tragic vocal chop that echoes over and over in the background.]
(Female Vocals)
Don't trip on the porch steps. They're slippery.
[Guest Male Rapper]
Yeah. Don't worry about it.
(Female Vocals)
I'm changing the locks tomorrow morning.
[Guest Male Rapper]
I know. You should.
[The drums suddenly accelerate into a frantic, glitching stutter, and a massive, distorted chillstep bass wave rolls over the entire track]
MVSSY_LVND
