Run from the folks that claim they're not hungry,
Yet eye your plate like the famished hawks,
Eating your meal mysteriously,
Their appetite is a secret paradox.
You'll always find them in conversations,
dissecting lives,
Gossip flows from below their mouths, like a hidden stream,
The chances are that, behind your back,
They weave similar tales, that will haunt your dream.
When around the beauty's flame, they'll always transform,
Hypocrites pretending to be better than others,
Chameleons in the presence of allure,
They shift attitude and bend behavior, as if love's gravity pulls them pure.
"That's too much," they say, pointing fingers here and there,
Always complaining like rain on a sunny day,
Flee from their negativity, my friend, Ditch them - 'Murifee...'
Anyone with a rich pockets, is their true companion,
With over-friendly smiles, and pockets squeezed,
But genuine warmth?
A welcoming heart?
Thou shalt wait ...
"Drink, smoke, try drugs," they insist.
They are relationship meddlers, architects of doubt,
With Masters of Misunderstandings in Complicating things,
Guard your love, let them fade away, Uninstall their memory, free up space.
When you are in a problem, a Bill arrives, and like sprinting gazelles,
They dash to find refuge in the Washroom,
And be back, "In a minute" - after the Bill is settled,
They are last-minute cancellers, full of excuse.
You'll find them on Results day,
To compare you to them, measuring souls,
But you? Rise above their scorecards,
Your worth transcends such shallow goals.
Quirks,
Life's Fist awaits—let kindness speak.

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