I Don't Deal With Them Poem by James McLain

I see them coming,
all smiles and slick words,
their eyes like cold marbles,
rolling lies off their tongues.

The narcissists, the leeches,
the grinning wolves,
the hollow men with poisoned hands,
digging into whatever's warm.

The psychopaths with their games,
the ones who hurt children,
the ones who carve scars into soft skin
and walk away laughing.

I don't deal with them.
I leave them to their own rot,
to their own fire,
to the mirrors that show them nothing at all.