TASTE OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE

The boy with his ledger, of rights and wrongs,

Sings hollow tunes, but never his own songs.
When his flaws are laid bare, he turns to “move on,”
Yet he thrives on the judgment he casts upon.

A lover of idioms, metaphors in vain,

Believes his wordplay makes him reign.
With a glance, he judges, with words, he stabs,
Deems himself a king of life's drabs and jabs.

But let’s be honest, your digs fell flat,

Not a single diss hit the mat.
You call yourself cosmic—master of the dance,
Yet stumble through life with a hollow stance.

You sneer at the world, “They can’t best me!”

If that were true, oh, how grim life would be.
And you, unaware of my silent strife,
I longed to erase the touch of your life.

You, the one who knew about Stifler’s Mom,

But couldn't handle my fire—you’d rather play calm.
“Would you wear this in front of my mom?” you’d plea,
While handing out lectures on love and purity.

Preach on, boy, of peace and white doves,

While you wear your hypocrisy like a glove.
Taste your own medicine, bitter and true,
For the world won’t bow—it’s not about you.

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Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Until Noon

I can feel the distance, But my body craves you. I am howling at the moon, Hoping you love me until noon. It’s winter, and everyone is covering up, But I will drop every single layer for you. Will you make the bedpost creak? Like the way we break our Duolingo streak? Or will you be my Count, And leave your marks on my neck? Will you drink away my life force, Or give me your immortal kiss? Who would care about saving it for daylight? We are creatures of this starry night. Will you save me with your sword, Be my Guinevere’s Sir Lancelot ? These boys keep talking about getting high at the pub. Would you do me the honour of the Mile High Club? Will you track my curves like an F1 circuit? Or be like kids fighting over the gully cricket? Come get me, while the night is still young, And we erase the distance with our tongues.

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Cruising Alone

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