Foid swipes through screens, a cold, empty stare,
Tech gave her power, to pick and to take,
But the more she grabs, the more she's wants.
She's chasing the top, the richest, the best,
But deep down, she's rotting—nothing's addressed.
A king's crown, a billionaire's ring,
But none of it matters, none of it sings.
Hypergamy's game
More men to screw, more lies to buy,
She hunts for the high, she digs for the wealth, .
Every match, a new thrill to feed,
A twisted addiction, a violent need,
She wants it all—more power, more fame—
But the harder she climbs, the more she needs.
She's fricked and used, a used roastie,
Chasing a life that's already gone,
Men line up, but they're just a blur,
Another body, another cure.
She can buy the world, but still can't win,
A cold, empty soul wrapped in sin,
She'll never stop, never see the trap,
Because in the end, she's just another foid.
So she swipes again, furious, desperate,
Hunting for a dream that's always irrelevant,
Chasing ghosts, chasing lies,
But at the top, she's still a foid.
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Poetry.
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