the game

a desolate life marks time well spent
forsaken by none, no soul to bend
falsified friendships built upon tales,
underhanded favors, you thought would prevail
pity is no comfort; a blade of grace
plunge it deep into this charity case
let the acrid pool spill forth and flow
empty this being from head to toe
a souless beast beset with spite
cannot be changed, try as you might
save your calls and gestures of goodwill
an earnest man knows not to instill
such contrived acts of candor, built from dismay
concocted and derived, they meet halfway
obscured and cloaked, appearing civil and clean
but i'll rake through the layers, unearth your routine
i see your facade and raise you mine
it's all just a game, and i can play along fine