one sick f—
There’s a lot of debate about whether people with narcissistic personality disorder and/or who are high on the narcissism spectrum are born the way they are (nature) or become the way they are (nurture). Maybe it’s not either/or, maybe it’s both.
One thing is sure: the impact of their behaviour on those around them, particularly intimate partners and family members is devastating. The narcissistic abuse they heap on others is toxic. It causes victims incalculable and sometimes irreparable damage. This kind of treatment and trauma is exceedingly difficult to heal from.
And make no mistake: narcissistic abusers know right from wrong. They know they are hurting and damaging others. They simply do not care. Perhaps they aren’t able to care because they are wired differently (nature), or because they are so broken themselves that they can’t care (nurture), or again perhaps it’s a combination of both.
Whatever the causes, they do not excuse the abhorrent behaviour perpetrated on unwitting and innocent victims by narcissists and psychopaths. There is no excuse.
This poem is about that.
one sick f—
Click on the audio player if you would like to hear me read the poem:
one sick f—
you professed once with pride
now the devil’s your guide
you’ve got nothing inside
but the evil you hide
you deceive and you con
treat people like pawns
use narcissist charm
to cross rivers on swans
your heart’s a big hole
and you’re missing a soul
more supply is the goal
as you hunt, trap and troll
you steal, cheat and lie
ruin innocent lives
leave behind cries,
ex girlfriends, and wives
you think you’re a porn star
some mechanical rockstar
a latter-day hunk
who loves flaunting his junk
you pursue and seduce
‘cause you’re horny and loose
you’d f— mother goose
if she had a caboose
you don’t waste a thought
on the pain you have wrought
nor give a squat
about the things that you ought
you think dick pics are candy
for the lonely or randy
so on camera you wank
for the prey in your tank
but you’re just a sad fake
a cowardly snake
who sucks women dry
while more wait in line
worse is the fact
that on top of these lacks
you pour salt in the wounds
of those you have hacked
you deny and project
on the ones you have wrecked
so you don’t have to own
the hurt you have sown
you pillage and rape
cover cracks with duct tape
thank god from this scrape
i have made my escape
what a poor piece of work
you’re a bonafide jerk
who hides behind smirks
and masks in the murk
one day for a tuppence
you’ll get your comeuppance
and the world will be right
in gold, silver and white
© 2021 Susan Macaulay . I invite you to share my poetry and posts widely, but please do not reprint, reblog or copy and paste them in their entirety without my permission. Thank you.
