T
Testostyrone
Iron
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2024
- Posts
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“Mogged by Bone”
(A poem in four cope cycles)I. Skull Check (Genesis)
In shadows born, midjaw torn,
No canthal tilt — just sockets worn.
A recessed chin, a midface doom,
I bloomed in bones, yet none did bloom.
Mirror’s light, a cursed stage,
Each glance a blackpill, page by page.
No halo gleam, no hunter’s frame,
Just mewing prayers — no God, no gain.
II. The Cope Spiral (Denial)
"Just be confident," they say — cope tier one,
But confidence can’t mog a Chad in the sun.
I gymmaxxed, dermarolled, slathered on tret,
Yet Tinder still ghosts me like Russian roulette.
PUAs chirp — "smile, bro, game her fast,"
But her brainstem filters your SMV cast.
No status? No jaw? Then you're a ghost,
No “alpha frame” can outmatch a post.
III. Looksmax (War Phase)
Silicone jawpads, threads to the face,
Hyaluronic hope, the ascension race.
Mewing with vengeance, chewing gum fate,
Tongue posture militant, still sub-8.
Groommaxxed, fitmaxxed, lean at the core,
But bones stay brutal — it’s always lore.
Canthal tilt? Negative. Orbital width? Wide.
She saw my side profile and instantly lied.
IV. Blackpill Ascendancy (Acceptance)
The blackpill burns but purifies,
No cope remains, no Tinder lies.
I’ve seen the halo, haloed men,
With hunter eyes and god-tier skin.
So here I dwell, among the mogged,
A skeletal scribe — my fate, well logged.
Yet in this void, I found my grace:
Truth is the mirror no lie can face.
