Welcome to Chillers, the ongoing series where we take a look at songs that give me goosebumps. Beginning in 2026, new entries will be posted weekly on WordPress with an automatic cross-post to Bluesky.

Jessie Murph exploded onto the pop scene with a voice and emotional delivery that feel unmistakably her own. Heroin, one of the standout tracks from Drowning and later featured on Sex Hysteria, is a chilling showcase of everything that makes her artistry so distinct: her grit, her vulnerability, and her willingness to sit inside difficult emotions without flinching.

The theme itself isn’t new to Chillers — a woman reflecting on the wreckage of past relationships — but Murph’s version of that story hits differently. Instead of anger or venom, Heroin is steeped in quiet sorrow. The narrator sees the pattern clearly: she keeps returning to someone toxic, someone bad for her, someone she knows will hurt her again. But the emotional pull is too strong.

Like the addiction referenced in the title, she keeps coming back, unable to sever the tie, chasing the same destructive high even as she recognizes how the story ends. It’s a confession of weakness, yes — but also of longing, of hunger, of the way love can blur into something darker and harder to escape.

Murph’s performance carries all of that weight. The softness in her voice, the breathy delivery, the tension simmering under every line — it turns a familiar narrative into something uniquely devastating.

Heroin is a quiet kind of chill, the kind that lingers long after the last note fades.