Left on Read

(A sharp, crisp ticking clock sound begins at 110 BPM. Every fourth tick has a hollow, metallic echo. A single, deep, distorted sub-bass note hits and holds, sounding like a flatlining monitor.)

"Yeah, sounds good. "That was it.

That was the whole text. No punctuation.

No energy.

No trace of the person who stayed up till 4 AM with me.

I told myself you were just running out the door.

I told myself I was being crazy. So I sent a real reply.

I kept it open, kept it human. And now...

(The ticking clock grows slightly louder)

Two checkmarks.

Read at 11:15 AM.

It's 5:00 PM now.

(A cold, digital synth pad enters, sounding like a freezing wind blowing through the track.)

My stomach is doing that thing again.

That slow, heavy twist where the blood turns to ice.

You had time to open it. You had time to look at my words.

But you decided they weren’t worth the thirty seconds to type back.

And the worst part?

I’m looking at my phone like it’s a bomb about to go off.

(The beat drops—not with a massive explosion, but with a heavy, blunt, dead-weight 808 thump. It feels empty and exhausting.)

Left on read.

Left in the gray.

You took my armor off just to walk away.

Where did the consistency go?

Was I just entertainment for your late-night show?

Now I’m the one sitting here holding the line,

Chasing a shadow that was mine just last night.

Left on read...

(Glitched, high-pitched vocal echo:) Red... red... why'd you leave me there?

(The blunt drums drop out, leaving only the relentless ticking clock and a rhythmic, clicking keyboard sound that keeps typing and deleting—never actually sending.)

This is exactly what I was screaming about in the beginning.

The low-effort pivot.

The moment you realize you have me, so you stop trying.

You want me to text you again, don't you? You want to see me double-text so you can feel secure.

So you can feel like the one in control. But it makes me feel sick.

It makes me feel small.

I’m fighting the urge to type "Is everything okay?"

Because I shouldn't have to ask a grown man if he still knows how to be a human being.

(The ticking clock suddenly stops. Total, dead silence for one second. Then, a massive, grinding hybrid-dubstep mid-bass growl tears through the track for just two bars, representing a sudden spike of internal anger.)

If you didn't mean it,

you shouldn't have said it.

If you can’t sustain it,

don’t start it.

Don't build a house out of promises if you're just gonna let the fire go out the next day.

(The industrial ticking clock returns, but it sounds slower, heavier, and slightly distorted. A ambient electric guitar tries to play its chord progression, but the notes are glitched, skipping like a scratched CD.)

Still gray.

Still red. The screen is warm...

But you're freezing me out

(The ticking clock grows slower and slower—110... 90... 70 BPM—until it stops completely on a loud, metallic "thud,")