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Wreckage

 


A boy came to me, asking—
"Can you help me improve?"
A boy who spent his drunken nights
in the arms of a mistress,
now claims he was always a good man.

He asked me—
"Why won’t you play my mother?"
Why?
Because your parents failed you and your brother?
Because you need a woman to mop up your shame
while you parade your masculinity
and pretend you’ve changed?

Well, people are filing FIRs
for words filthier than yours.
But what about you—
the one who left my body wrecked
and laughed as I fell?

And now you say—
"Let it be. Otherwise,
who will buy you a lightsaber?
Which man will claim you now?"

Did that laughter and power
disappear from your face now?
When you said, "Get lost."
When you hid behind your brother’s strength.
When you ran,
sneering—
"Ah, is that why you’re causing trouble?
Because you’re not getting money?"

Wow.
But sure.
You are such an amazing man.

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