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.