Ringxiety

(No music at all. Just the sound of someone tossing and turning in bed, blankets rustling, and the heavy, frustrated sigh of someone who can't sleep. Then, a low, ambient synth drone creeps in.)

(Missy - speaking under her breath, right into the microphone, voice sounding raw and tired)

I keep putting my phone face down on the nightstand so I stop looking at it... But then I swear I hear it buzz against the wood.

I flip it over. Nothing.

I’m literally hallucinating notifications at this point. It’s pathetic.

(A cold, simple, electronic pulse kicks in. No snare yet, just a heavy, isolated heartbeat kick drum.)

You went from sending me songs at midnight to single-word replies.

And the worst part is I’m sitting here trying to rationalize your lies.

I’m scrolling back through our old threads like a detective at a crime scene,

Re-reading my last text twenty times, wondering if I sounded too mean.

Did I say too much? Was that joke a little weird?

Suddenly I’m editing myself, swallowed by the exact anxiety I feared.

I see you online.

I see the green light right next to your face.

You’re right there.

You’re holding your phone. But you’re leaving me in space.

My stomach literally drops every time the screen lights up with a name,

Only for it to be a random news alert or a stupid notification from a game.

(The beat starts to skip and fragment, like a scratched CD. It sounds unstable and frustrating.)

And my pocket twitches every time I walk down the street.

It’s like my body is physically waiting for you to complete... whatever this was.

But the airwaves went freezing cold the second you knew you had me.

You pulled your hand back so fast it gave me mental whiplash,

honestly. The house is dead quiet.

But my head is so loud.

It’s just a ghost in my pocket...

Yeah, it’s just a ghost.

(The track opens up into a heavy, grinding, chaotic electronic groove. It feels claustrophobic and tense—the sonic equivalent of a panic attack in a club.)

I’m literally chasing a phantom that I met through a glass screen!

Stuck in the most humiliating mind game that I’ve ever seen!

You reeled me in close till you knew you were running my mind,

Then you just walked away from the controls and left me behind.

Now I’m staring at a blank lock screen that won't light up for me,

Begging for a signal on a frequency where we used to be.

I feel my phone vibrating, but there’s nothing there.

You’re not there.

You don't care.

(Glitch Step Chaos)

(Sonics: The sound of a phone vibrating gets heavily distorted, amplified, and sliced into a jagged, glitchy bass growl. Aggressive, stuttering synths mimic a broken digital signal, creating a massive, high-tension festival drop.)

(The beat drops back down to a cold, minimalist industrial click. Your voice sounds completely drained of energy now.)

I saw you posted a story on Instagram like twenty minutes ago.

You’re out at some diner, laughing,

putting on a whole show.

So you’re not busy.

Your phone isn't broken.

You didn't lose your charger.

You just decided that ignoring me makes your ego feel a little larger.

And I hate myself for how much I care.

I hate that I typed out a draft,

Deleted it, wrote it again, trying to sound casual so you wouldn't laugh.

“Hey, hope you’re having a good week!”—God, it makes me sick to my core.

To beg for a crumb of attention

from a man who used to promise me the floor.

You hit me with a "K" four hours later and didn't even ask how I’ve been.

The transition is so brutal.

I don't even recognize you again.

(The drums cut out entirely. The background noise is just the ambient, empty hum of a room at night. Your voice is completely dry and intimate, right in the listener's ear.)

You did this on purpose. That’s the thing that’s making me crazy.

It wasn't an accident.

You didn't just get a little hazy.

You realized you won the game.

You proved to yourself that you could get me hooked.

And the second my guard dropped...

you closed the book.

It wasn't a connection to you.

It was just a calculation.

A little ego boost to pass the time during your vacation.

I was wide open...

and you just vanished.

(The ambient hum turns into a fast, frantic digital ticking clock. A massive white-noise riser builds up as your vocal starts to stutter, mimicking an electronic breakdown.)

And my phone is dead silent...

But my chest is still shaking.

Phan-phan-phantom...

Stop looking at it.

Three, two, one—

(Sonics: The drop hits even harder this time, but the tone shifts slightly from pure anxiety to the very first sparks of resentment and anger. It’s heavy, mechanical, and designed to make the crowd release all their frustration.)

(The music stops instantly on a heavy bass thud. The room ambient sound returns. We hear the distinct sound of a phone being aggressively flipped face-down onto a table, followed by a long, angry exhale.)

Screw it...