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Audacity

How often do we see men pretending to be saints, only to reveal their true colours when the mask slips? Have we forgotten the price of their hollow promises?




You made beds with a pro, thought you were a hunk,
Stumbled home drunk, all swagger and funk.
"Trust me," you said, "shower me with love,"
As if loyalty is a gift sent from above.

The boy who "hates" my tears, oh, what a show,
But laughed loud and clear at my screams, you know.
"Anything for you," you said, such a saint—
Yet broke me by phone, with fruit chaat as paint.

Smirking, "I’ve got a meeting," what a line—
While I drowned in my pain, you sipped your lime.
And now you want babies, a fresh new start,
Praying to gods you made me hate in my heart.

Audacity, dear, should be your middle name,
You play the victim but fuel the flame.
Man of the hour? Oh, what a disguise—
Your greatness ends with your own hollow lies.


How many times have we seen men like this, using charm and lies to deceive, only to fall short when it’s time to show real love? When do we stop giving them a pass?

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