You talk like a highlight reel Curated, cropped, surreal You quote deep things you’ve never felt And smile like it’s someone else You post your pain with filters on Captioned: “healing” but you’re gone The latte’s hot, your soul is cold And darling, that’s getting old You know all the trends But none of the truth You crave affection But not the roots You’re a Starbucks on Sunday Aesthetic, but hollow A mood with no substance Too curated to follow You look like a poem But read like a caption And baby, I’m done With decorative passion You wear your trauma like a trend Only when it’s cute to bend You loved me best in lighting soft But hated me when I turned off You called me “too intense” For asking what you meant But real love makes a mess And you’re allergic to the dent You collect people Like moodboards and rings But can’t sit still When the silence sings You’re a Starbucks on Sunday Aesthetic, but hollow A mood with no substance Too curated to follow You look like a poem But read like a caption And baby, I’m done With decorative passion You want love that photographs well A life made of filters Drunk by the spell A polished performance you rehearsed too well I had enough, farewell You’re a Starbucks on Sunday Aesthetic, but hollow A mood with no substance Too curated to follow You look like a poem But read like a caption And baby, I’m done With decorative passion Can I have a caramel Frappuccino please? It’s my favorite
