That pain inside, that old familiar feel.

One of the few things I am sure of being real.

Lust is fickle, energy is blind,

What the heart wants is passed over by the mind.

Self-respect, being trampled not

I have to stick with the cards I have got

She played her games, fooled me at the start

Caught I am not, though she has broken my heart.

Another scar to add to the collection.

Many there are, I count in calm reflection.

I wonder still, what is her game?

Seven months in, removed by a three day name.

This isn’t the end, or perhaps it may be.

The one thing I know is what she means to me.

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