DELETED THE APP, DELETED THE THREAD
REPLACED THE SCENT OF YOU IN THE BREEZE
BLOCKING YOUR PROFILE TWICE EVERY DAY
BUT I STILL HEAR EVERYTHING YOU DIDN’T SAY
Burned every bridge, burned every tag
Burned the belongings I left in that bag
"Data migration," they say it’s so easy
But the ghost in the circuit is making me queasy
I formatted folders, I formatted drives
I formatted versions of our former lives
But at 3 AM, my thumb finds the ghost
Of the link to the picture I burned the most
There’s no "undo" for the damage
No "safe mode" to manage
No "block list" for the scent of your skin
No "firewall" for the state that I’m in
Deleted doesn’t mean ended
Deleted is just pretended
And I find your ghost haunting
Every move, every sentence
DELETED THE APP, DELETED THE THREAD
THE GHOST IN THE CIRCUIT
THE DEBT I’VE COMPLETED
DELETED, DELETED
MY THUMB STILL REPEATS IT
YOUR HANDLE IN SEARCH BARS
MY PRIDE IN THE DARK
Deleted...
But not gone...
Not gone...
Never gone...