From hottest looks we low-key want more fire,
So beauty’s feed won’t glitch out, fade, or die;
But as the main character gets even flyer,
Their whole aesthetic low-key starts to fry.
But you, too locked in with your own thirst traps,
Feed your bright vibe with self-made validation,
Creating content droughts from endless claps,
Too greedy with your glow for circulation.
You that are now the timeline’s freshest flex,
The only drip of this whole chaotic spring,
You bury your potential for cheap checks,
And eat your future like it’s some snack thing.
Pity the world, bestie, don’t ghost your grace,
Or the grave and your ego will hoard your face.
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