Refusing to stop, until the worst of the worst was found, 

She had finally succeeded. 

180 turn from vulgar, fraudulent lout to full sociopath, 

A man who didn’t really know how to be human, 

Which was no turn at all. 

Confusing apathy for seriousness, 

Psychological abuse would abound. 

He was bolstered by those who excused his behavior as something else, 

Creating a great guy where none existed, 

As she always did. 

The only one who seemed to care had seen it before, 

Fascination with position obscuring the monster before her.

Women ended up deceased. 

She once treasured a sense humor, 

Now she chose a man completely devoid of one, 

With a smile as forced as her own. 

Clearly an absolute control freak, 

Who silently creeped on the pages of women he collected,

Those who had already known a man like him, 

And had suffered for it. 

Prey. 

Looking for one damaged enough for his illness.

She was that woman. 

But she desired a leash … and she would have it, 

And she had been making her own collection, 

Of overt sociopaths she thought of as real men. 

Sociopathy defined his face, heinous without it, 

Shapeless void of overbite, ugly with no saving grace. 

No telling what this many used his money for, 

What sick perversions were entertained behind his dead eyes. 

He was the embodiment of a killer’s profile, 

The quiet professional next door, 

Family man. 

No one would believe it. 

But she was a murderer too, 

And she would soon find out. 

Even she, a willful liar, did not deserve what lay in wait for her, 

But she’d chosen her punishment for what she had inflicted, 

Chosen, at least in part, out of spite, 

Making it apropos, near fated. 

Karma had already found her.

She could have been human and chosen human. 

She did neither. 

She would suffer by her own choice, inflict her own last wound.