I Admire Your Bravado (Except Not Really)
I admire your bravado—
your swan dive into delusion.
You swore the sky was green, babe,
with the whole world watchin’ the blue.
You testified in technicolour,
all flash, no foundation,
forgot the part where lies leave echoes—
and sweetheart, we caught the vibration.
Roll the tape, cue your voice,
sugar-laced with static noise,
saying things you now deny,
but truth doesn’t blink and mics don’t lie.
You said you didn’t say it—
how bold, how brave, how breathtakingly dumb.
Because the tape, darling,
says otherwise. Loudly. And more than once.
It plays in crisp stereo,
your voice a symphony of contradictions.
Three versions, none matching,
each one a tangled audition.
A veiled allusion to abduction?
Adorable. As subtle as a chainsaw.
But your words, dear disaster,
already danced a different waltz.
Oh, the artistry—
lying about a lie looped on a loop.
You rewrote the scene
as the credits rolled. Genius.
Did you think truth was bashful?
That justice couldn’t Google?
That credibility was a costume
you could zip on with your coffee?
You’re betting on your horse, aren’t you?
Praying no one sees the flames.
But I’ve got the reins,
and the receipts.
High fidelity. Timestamped.
Unshakable. Unforgiving. Uncut.
The scales don’t tip for tantrums.
They measure truth. They remember.
And oh—you trembling little thespian—
you forgot your lines.
And when the curtains fall on all your pretty fiction,
when the lights go dim on your twisted conviction—
I’ll still be here in a gown made of truth,
with the gavel in my grip and the tape as proof.
You said you’d never said it—so poetic, so brave.
But I stitched your voice into every wave.
I turned your lies into warpaint,
your shame into gold.
You didn’t burn out, babe—
you just got cold.
You wanted a moment,
I gave you a monument.
Built from the silence
after the playback.
This isn’t a bridge.
It’s a reckoning.
You were the story—
But I’m the ending.
And your performance?
Darling, it died.
Encore denied.
Cue the spotlight…
On the girl who survived.
