Narrated For You

Midnight heat rising, slipping through the sheets,
Your fingers trace the lines where my heartbeat meets.
Every kiss you give me burns a hidden mark,
We’re tangled up in craving, moving through the dark.

You bite at the places only shadows know,
Leaving little warnings only we can show.
Secrets bloom deeper where the moon won’t glow,
And every stolen breath pulls me further below.

(Hide the bruises where the night won’t tell)
(Pulled into your grip, trapped inside the spell)
(Every touch is danger, every breath I owe)
(Kiss me in the dark—baby, bite me slow)

Your mouth on my shoulder draws another shiver,
Your teeth write confessions only heat delivers.
We move without speaking, just the rush of skin,
Breaking rules in silence like original sin.

You push me to edges I can’t name aloud,
A quiet kind of hunger we don’t share with the crowd.
Your grip gets tighter with each whispered “stay,”
And I melt into the want that won’t go away.

(Hide the bruises where the night won’t tell)
(Pulled into your grip, trapped inside the spell)
(Every touch is danger, every breath I owe)
(Kiss me in the dark—baby, bite me slow)

Pull me under, drag me through the heat,
Your hands say everything our lips can’t speak.
Mark me softly, take what you claim—
Leave a trail of fire everywhere you say my name.
This fever’s rising, deeper than I show—
Don’t stop now—baby, bite me slow.

(Hide the bruises where the night won’t tell)
(Pulled into your grip, trapped inside the spell)
(Every touch is danger, every breath I owe)
(Close the door, take your time—baby, bite me slow)

Bite Me Slow

Versions of You takes a single track and fractures it into fourteen alternate Quantum me worlds — each one revealing a different shape the story could take if the moment, the mood, or the narrator were just a degree to the left.

From glitch-folk confessions to neon-lit electro-soul, from whispered ASMR heartbreak to full-throttle trap, each version is its own universe: new chord colours, new emotional physics, new versions of the same truth. Some tracks feel intimate enough to touch; others feel like they’re broadcast from a future where your memories have been remixed without permission.

What stays the same is the centre of gravity, the ache and loss at the centre of the song about the love wearing out.

Whether you start at Version 1 or jump into the deep end at Version 14, each track refracts the same lyric through a different lens — digital, human, nostalgic, brutal, ecstatic, quiet, cinematic. Over the full album, the song becomes a prism: turn it once, you hear longing; turn it again, you hear defiance; turn it again, you hear relief.

This is not a remix album.
It’s a mirror maze.
And every reflection is a version of you.

Boy in the Bubble

Alec Benjamin

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