The Game (sort of a scene)

With a windsome smile he arranged his hand The pipe bobbing up and down and to the side As would be typical the room, darkly lit And the crafty sneer burned evil through and through He was the joker, the player, the devil himself Oh but he was a gentleman indeed, tipping his hat and all Yet something behind his kind expressions And his seemingly thoughtful gestures Ripped tears in all my good thoughts of him One of the lesser devils on my shoulder shuddered His teeth menacingly glisen hidden warnings Trying not to stare and look at my cards What should i play what should i keep? I looked over the top of my cards And his eyes were staring at me, hungrily