Oh those vain players, 

Stables of female prey to look at, to seek, to use, 

Claiming it’s just normal interest, hot pursuit, 

But no real interest in any as human beings, 

Only convenient lays and possible maids. 

Faces, bodies, breasts to gawk at, 

To fantasize over and maybe animate in a machine …

In compromising poses. 

They use the sheen of morality and family to God-wash their sick hobby, 

To hide their hideous minds and ulterior motives. 

They believe all women exist for their use, their pleasure, 

Their amusement. 

And now, o the irony, those you cling to, those you let in, 

Those you allow to see your life, 

They begin to chase the same women, 

Peruse the same profiles, 

Because their minds are the same, 

They are the same person when it comes to playing others, 

And they gravitate to the same faces, same profiles, 

With the same motives,

As they gravitated to you … for the same reasons.