Confidence is a dish served cold

I drink Martini
so cliché
while spreading my lips
at your sight
I’m by your side?
Not even good with words
maybe good-looking enough
or that’s what I want to know
although
my brain’s a Medusa hair-do
not the prettiest
yet a catcher:
you compliment – I bite
you think I’m cool – I die
you talk so smart – I would rather play thumbs.

Still here we are
still, we are
can’t move far
can be only stars
self-awareness is an idol
with the eyes of a petrifying clum.

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