Faux Misery Poem by Za7ra Sulaiman

Salman's poem

Oh look, she's sad again, how deep, how grand,
She takes the stage with trembling hand.
As if crying on purpose gives her the upper hand,
As if sorrow was something we'd all understand.

Writes poems like wounds, so raw, so fake,
Each stanza a sob, each line a mistake.
She milks every ache for the drama she makes,
Then watches it bloom in the trail of heartbreaks.

She calls it art, but it's just a show,
A shadow-play where nothing can grow.
Wears gloom like glitter, won't let it go,
Finds comfort in pity, lets no light show.

Joy's too simple, peace too plain,
No spotlight in balance, no profit in sane.
Why heal when you can profit off pain,
When a broken voice sings louder than the sane?

She lives in a verse, sleeps in a line,
Pretends it's deep, but it's by design.
Every tear rehearsed, each metaphor stained,
In a play where the ending's always the same.