ABOUT THE POEM: This is Ronie Dinosaur’s autopsy of his own romantic extinction. Once a shy, almost monk-like boy who fled girls out of reverence, treating his over-affectionate female friends like untouchable Madonnas, he now he has become the inverse: a desperate customer chasing paid flesh through neon gutters, only to be rejected even by whores. The reversal is so perfect it feels like a curse cast by those very saints he once protected. Fate, once discreet, now laughs openly in his face. The more infamous he becomes for his defiance, the more shameless the humiliation. He coins the “Ronie-Randa Complex”: the pure ones he once worshipped have morphed, in his scorched psyche, into the rands who charge him to crawl. Worse, he pays. The customer, he realises, is the true male whore—begging, humiliated, disposable. He was too virtuous for the good girls. Now he is too broken for the bad ones. Ronie Dinosaur no longer believes in karma, only in the lie that numbs tonight’s wound. The poem is that lie, spoken aloud so the heart can sleep another hour before the next rejection texts arrive.