Ghost Interface

(A clean, cold synth arpeggio that sounds like a computer booting up. A sharp, mechanical 808 snare hits right on the beat.)

I’m looking at your pictures again. The way you smile, the clothes you wear, the captions you wrote.

I know your favorite songs, I know where you went last July.

But as I sit here staring at this glass, I realize I don’t even know how you smell.

I don’t know how you occupy a room. I fell in love with a grid. I fell in love with a curated version of a man.

And it scares me to death.

(The clean synth arpeggio slows down, and a deep, humming sub-bass rolls in underneath.)

Are we even real?

Or are we just two lonely people feeding each other data?

Exchanging pixels just to feel less empty? Because a profile can’t hold my hand when the room gets dark.

(The beat drops into a smooth, heavy Future-R&B groove. The synths become lush but distinctly electronic.)

We’re just talking to a ghost interface, ghost interface.

Falling for a shadow in a digital space.

I don’t want your text, I don't want your type. I’m starving for your skin in the middle of the night.

Are you a human being or a beautiful lie?

Step out of the screen, look me in the eye.

Cuz I’m drowning in this ghost interface.

(Glitched vocal echo:)

In-ter-face... just a lie...

(The main drums drop out, leaving a sharp, metallic high-hat and a ticking rimshot. The vocal gets closer and sharper.)

You sent a voice note earlier.

Eight seconds of you laughing at something I said.

I played it ten times just to feel a pulse in this chat.

But the second the audio stops, the silence comes rushing back double.

You claim you’re real, you claim you’re raw.

But real people don’t have an off-switch.

Real people don’t disappear into a pocket for twelve hours without a trace.

I need the version of you that doesn’t require a Wi-Fi connection.

(The music strips completely to a pulsing electronic bassline. Heavy, aggressive mid-range dubstep growls start to peek through, signaling the upcoming anger of Act III.)

I am deleting the safety net.

I am sick of the comfort of this distance.

Either you show up, consistent and true,

Or I’m turning off the screen...And I’m deleting you too.

(The Future-R&B groove comes back but it is heavily distorted now, fighting against a rising wave of static noise.)

No more pixels.

No more ghosts.

Show me the human.

Show me the man.

(The track doesn't fade out—it suddenly sounds like a speaker blowing out with a loud digital pop.)