He said he was bastard
And bastard he was.
He liked to play games
And never he’s lost.
He used to use people,
He used to command.
And never felt guilty
For ruthless demands.
He called himself tiger
And women he snatched,
And threw after tasting,
And looked for a new catch.
He’s never felt lonely,
He’s never been mine.
He drew me a portrait:
I see it- and smile.
July 2016