The Player

THE PLAYER 8-19-04

What thing is this
that creeps up my spine
plaguing my mind with this sickness,
draining my inhibitions?

How I long to hold your heart in my hand,
to crush your pride beneath my feet,
to see that longing look in your eyes
when you beg for a taste
of what you know you will never have.

Sweet child you are lost
naked with your dignity cast to the floor,
you are mine
though I am not yours,
a mere toy
till you are discarded for a newer plaything.

Steal the heart,
and possess the soul
become the dream,
and own the mind
Crush the spirit
and have a slave.

What parasitic thing is this that I have become?
what brut with the heart of a monster
feeding on the praise, and fear of others
what narcissistic thing are you?

Self-indulgent dominus,
remorseless sinner
lost in the decadence of himself,
and joy of residing in the shadow of his malevolence.

And yet lost somewhere within himself
isolated from the outside
longing for answers
and finding only more questions


There is no happiness inside
so he seeks solace in the misery of others,
and destroys one life after another,
never filling the void in his empty heart

Maybe one day
there will be found the missing piece
to this wayward soul,
maybe someday a toy will make him happy?