[Verse 1] Found Suno after work, put the things I couldn’t say In a song behind a username, then gave the link away. Autumn found my song and wrote, “Someone gets it. Finally.” Eli had her latest pinned above his own release. Two teens making music, trading pieces of their lives, She would borrow half his chorus; he would finish off her lines. She sang about her cutting; he put pills inside his verses, Made the thought of disappearing sound like finally finding purpose. But beneath his latest upload: “Please pick up. I’m getting scared.” His reply: “Only if you promise you’ll be there.” [Hook] Stay on the line, stay on the line, Tell me you’ll make it to morning this time. [Boy] I’m here tonight, I’m here tonight, Promise you’ll answer tomorrow night. [Girl] Don’t leave me your voice in a song. [Boy] I need you to answer. I’ll keep the light on. [Both] Are you still there? Still there, still there? Say something. Say something. Are you still there? [Verse 2] Fall was always her favourite, all the golds and reds of trees, Called a song “Beautiful Goodbye,” filled the cover up with leaves. Made the falling sound like freedom, made the dying sound like peace. I was humming in the kitchen with the whole thing on repeat. Then she posted she’d been hurting. He was begging her to stop. Next day he said he’d try again. She begged him not to log off. They dropped another track together, ending soft and sweet. “Please stay alive” sat underneath it, buried three feet deep. “Masterpiece.” “You gave me chills.” Five frightened little messages they’d written to each other. Their fear was real. The praise stayed on the surface. [Verse 3] Someone called BlueRocket, little planet for a face, Always early with a comment, always asking them to stay. Twelve years old, his first attempt, the beat was far too loud, Joked, “My mum gets front-row tickets. Just gotta find a crowd.” Sang about his brother moving out before the spring, Boys who waited by his locker when the lunchroom bell would ring. Autumn said, “Keep writing.” Eli left a little heart. I typed, “Welcome to the music,” Then went back to what was playing. August, Blue was singing both their parts beneath his breath, Her falling leaves, his pills, those pretty words surrounding death. Then a post: “Can someone listen? Having trouble with tonight.” Underneath a new release. I scrolled past it. Pressed like. [Hook] Stay on the line… just stay… Tell me you’ll make it to morning. [Boy] I’m still here… still here… Promise you’ll answer tomorrow. [Girl] Don’t leave me your voice. [Boy] I need you to answer. Light’s still on. [Both] Are you still there? Still there? Say something. Are you still there? [Verse 4] Autumn filmed beneath the fairy lights, Eli out beside the pool, Blue replayed them in the bedroom where he hid straight after school. Pretty faces, perfect houses—least that’s what their pages showed, His headphones drowned the shouting in a house that wasn’t home. He put them on a pedestal; their words outweighed his own, They made death sound like belonging to a kid who felt alone. They got praise for every chorus; he just wanted them to care. Next week they posted laughing. His last question still sat there. Blue had missed a couple uploads. Then a couple turned to more. Still that little painted planet. Still the song I’d heard before. Then somebody shared a local clip. I nearly scrolled right by. School photograph, familiar username beneath a smiling child. I turned the volume up. My hands went cold. [Verse 5] His mother told the station, “He was twelve. He was my son.” Said he’d struggled with the bullying long before he wrote a song. Then the words “self-inflicted” as they showed his empty chair, And the little music corner with his headphones sitting there. Said those songs made death sound gentle when his days were getting hard, But his life held more than anyone could fit in sixteen bars. Asked the people making music, “Do you know who’s pressing play?” I was staring at his username. Had nothing left to say. [Outro] I started making music ’cause the words helped me survive, Should’ve understood their power on the other side. I could close the laptop, leave a song when it was through, Never knew what someone else might take that chorus home and do. We don’t know every listener, what happened in their day, What they hear inside a line, what they carry when it plays. I’ll tell the truth about the hurt, about the nights I barely cope, But I won’t dress death in pretty words and let it sound like hope. Somewhere there’s another kid who hasn’t said a thing, Knows the verses word for word, sits alone and lets them sing. What we write to let it out, someone else takes in. We don’t get to choose whose room our songs are playing in. [Final] He heard every word. We barely heard from him. [Silence]
0/500