Buzzing

were Cupid, I'd sharpen my arrows to razor points, skip the hearts, and aim straight for the doubters. Picture me, wings buzzing like angry bees, soaring over the city at midnight. First stop: that guy at the bar, nursing a whiskey, muttering love's a scam. Zap—arrow to the thigh. He staggers, spots the bartender's smile, and suddenly he's reciting poetry instead of pickup lines. Next, the CEO in his penthouse, swearing romance is for suckers. Thwack—arrow to the chest. He's canceling meetings to chase his assistant through Central Park. I'd keep going, relentless, hitting every skeptic from truckers to tech bros. No one gets away. By sunrise, the world's a mess of confessions, and I'm cackling on a cloud, bow still hot. Love? They'll believe now.One night I'd follow this couple on a date. Both of 'em total jerks—he mansplains, she one-ups every sentence. Sitting on the awning above their table, I wait. They clink glasses to 'toxic masculinity' while tearing each other down. I let go. Double strike. Sauce everywhere, arguments paused mid-insult. They stare at the mess, then at themselves. For once, silent. I flutter off, satisfied. Next morning headlines read 'Bird droppings unite bickering lovers'. Underneath: 'Witnesses say they apologized profusely'. Poetic, isn't it?anyway, back to my little revenge spree. The real jackpot? That influencer mid-selfie, bragging about realness while faking her whole life. I dive, I release. Bullseye on her filter. She shrieks, video still recording—her followers get unedited tears. Priceless. Wind rushes past my wings, cool and fast. I'd circle back home to a branch outside a bakery, watching the mess I've made unfold below. All those stains—tiny monuments to karma. And me? Just another silhouette against the moon.   I have nothing left to say to you. There's no point in it.
  Being indifferent does not make you different. 

rap, trap, electro, male