He casts his sweet bait on invisible line,
Craving the game like a drunkard craves wine.
He appears as if not really fishing at all,
Mentally choosing the next who will fall.
He feels a small nibble after only awhile,
Not just yet, he tells himself with a smile.
He knows he will catch the one he truly desires,
She is drawn by his bait, as a moth is to a fire.
The bait is then taken and he sets the hook,
Slowly reeling her in with a victorious look.
He focuses hard his brow starting to crease,
Thoroughly enjoying his game of catch and release.
He cares not that his game leaves scars and is cruel,
He plays it relentlessly and he follows no rules.
The catch is a beauty, but he will not give in,
He throws her back coldly and a new game begins.
