I’m not sorry for the nights I vanished,
for the texts I left on blue,
for the me you tried to cage—
I flew.
pH-1 on the track, Youngji in my veins,
Slom’s kick hits like guilt,
but I rinsed it off in rain.
I loved you in flashes,
now I’m lens out of focus—
every frame says “sorry,”
but my tongue won’t own it.
I’m the glitch in your gospel,
the skip you can’t lock in—
play it back, still no regret,
just a lighter and a grin.