The Games.

There are twenty-five ways to destroy her mind,
I sat down by candlelight and listed them.
I had a personal objective to carry each one out,
to test her, to destroy her, to make her wake up and smell the coffee as I was once forced to one crisp, burnt morning.

But why such a vendetta
against another female, an innocent party, who did me no harm?
The temptation to rip her emotions limb from limb, for my pleasure, because I can see so much of myself in her.
I was her and I was a fool.

There are a million ways to attack the naive,
only few for someone who chooses to turn a blind eye, only a few for someone who chooses love over brain cells.
How many times should you warn a person before you think just let them fall and learn to swim?

It's like watching a person unwilling to wake,
knowing there's nothing you can do to stop the dreaming,
you can only speak with words on deaf ears before the odds are stacked way out of your favour and poison for the ignorant fills you.

Back to the task at hand,
back to the evenings by which I stained her favourite nutcracker,
and I sent him back to her bruised and broken.
I was on the attack, it saved me being attacked.

It gave me the control and it's like they say, for those who are bullied, they can turn, turn into bullies themselves.
I have done things wrong.
I am not created from perfection but experience and hard-knocks.