NULL POINTER

[Verse 1]
The blue dot went static on the Calumet viaduct, a final freeze-frame.
You kept the screen awake to watch it burn into the grain.
The thread of texts a blueprint for a house that's half-demolished,
scrolling back to February for a promise that felt polished.
The timestamp glows a sickly green, a 2:19 confession,
just pixels under pressure, a digital compression.
A ghost inside the circuit board, a voltage held in stasis,
the empty space between the words on your favorites list.

[Chorus]
Wipe the number from the glass now.
Erase the contact, let the ghost pass now.
The grid goes quiet, humming flatline.
Delete the entry, sever that line.

[Verse 2]
Your thumb just hovers over it, the glass feels cold and final,
a picture from last autumn, a disposable vinyl.
The contact photo's grainy, from a booth on Division Street,
the laugh is silent, captured, but the memory's complete.
Heard the message tone you set for it—a train horn from the South Shore,
a sound that meant arrival, doesn't mean it anymore.
Got the text back: "'Read receipt off.' Just like that, the window's shut."
A clean cut through the fiber-optic, nothing but.

[Bridge]
No signal.
No echo.
No handshake.
No trace.

[Outro]
Just a blank name on a black screen.
Just a quiet kind of clean.