A poem to mark a new start – ‘The Trophy of Trust, Trapping Mr Nicest Guy’

Welcome to my blog! My manifesto at the moment can be summed up with one word: eclectic.

I hope to show a part of me that I basically never/rarely show people.

What follows is a poem I wrote tonight in a couple of hours. I am no poet, but I had an urge put to writing something which has been plaguing me for some time – and has cleared recently.

Great credit to Thomas Sheridan, to whom I owe much thanks for opening my eyes somewhat.

All the best, people 🙂


The Trophy of Trust – Trapping Mr Nicest Guy.

[ATTENTION, predators about]


I start my search. An enabler is needed.

Bingo, potential target.

Approach, observe.


His permanent, sparkle-eyed smile betrays naivety.

Outgoing exterior overflowing – hides some unspoken trauma.

Sensitivity is high – genuine concern for surrounding persons. [though heavily automatic]


Interest kindled, I move closer. My beady eyes ready.


After affable introductions, he immerses in topics started by everyone but himself – Ego, non-existent. [or is it just very wounded?]

Proactively, he seeks acceptance in the newly acquainted: The Joe Bloggses and the Emma Smithses are long lost friends that were never befriended.


Clearly vulnerable, clearly needy, clearly foolish, he’s ripe.

Calculate, engage. In the game.


Believes every sad, sad, sad tale               …made by me. [to be forsaken]

                                                    Strike one.

Keeps to a false mould of reality                …set by me. [to be forgotten]

                                                    Strike two.

Instantly accepts each bad deed               …done by me. [to be forgiven]

                                                   Strike three.


His responses triggered. His psyche imprinted upon. HIs pity aroused. He is mine.

With sincere feeling, he spreads my magical words, planted into the soil of his mind: ‘Best friends’.

Valiantly, he defends me [stupid hero] “He has many problems, but underneath it all, there’s a Golden Heart.”

*Smirks*. Sorted. Success.

Caught him.


Loyalty, it makes me smell so much better.

Armed, I search for my next victim.

16 years come to pass – the lie is no more, the contact utterly broken.

The enabler finally can start to enable himself, before others.

That which tricked him in the first place, ends it:


for eventually, you realise that there is nothing there.


Don’t follow the lights over the marshes.

Never give yourself to the psychopath.


Thanks for reading!

Do tell me if this poem struck you in any way, good or bad, or even accross the head with a giant rosary ((C) Mr. Eugene Coleman – 2009).