She flirts. She cries. She vanishes.
A dark ballad for every woman ever accused of being too much — too loud, too emotional, too seen.
Built from the diagnosis they throw at us when we stop being convenient.
A thousand masks, yet none at all.

Dedicated to the men who think “histrionic” is a synonym for female.

Lyrics

She walks into the crowded room,
Eyes like fire, lips in bloom.
A practiced smile, a scripted line,
She craves the gaze, she must shine.

She laughs too loud, she moves too fast,
Each word a spell, each look a cast.
A touch too soft, a glance too bold,
Her stories shift, her truths untold.

She flirts, she cries, she disappears,
Returns again with new veneers.
The damsel waits, the siren calls,
A thousand masks, yet none at all.

She spins a tale, she sheds a tear,
A tragic queen for all to hear.
A gasp, a sigh, a widened eye,
Validation - her supply.

She plays the victim, plays the star,
Yet no one sees who you really are.
A fleeting spark, a fading light,
Lost in drama, lost in night.

She flirts, she cries, she disappears,
Returns again with new veneers.
The damsel waits, the siren calls,
A thousand masks, yet none at all.

She begs for love but shuns its weight,
Needs devotion, fears its fate.
For when the curtain meets the floor,
She is alone, forevermore.

The Histrionic Mask

Sweet venom. Sad poetry. Savage satire.
I write in the places where shame flirts with seduction,
where heartbreak lingers like perfume, and grief begs for one more hit.
Some tracks are lullabies for lost boys. Others are traps disguised as tenderness.
You’ll find humour, humiliation, and hurt, often tangled together.
There are stories here. Of pain. Of power. Of things people don’t want to admit they feel.
If you’re unsure whether to laugh, cry, or look away, 
good. That means it’s honest.

(And yes, some songs still bite.)

Always open for song topic requests.

New tracks tagged #Fat Link