The Game

It was a cruel game you played with my mind, my eyes, my heart.

For the sin of trusting you again, for the crime of wanting someone to love- with a calculating ruthlessness you trapped me from the start.

The stakes were more than I ever would have been willing to risk, more than could be paid.

From the beginning I was doomed to lose, lost before the first move was even made.

The deck was stacked- you knew what lay underneath every tile, what was behind every card.

I had to fold, the costs were too great and the stakes too hard.

You cornered another square and I gave it, you took another piece and I yielded.

Oh, how the beginning of this game was so very sweet- it was everything I wanted.

Consider this as you spend whatever gains you've gotten from me.

All that you won from me will soon run out, and unless you find another mark, the moth-eaten purse you call your heart will again be empty.

I am left to take my broken self and go home, my head bowed in grief, anger, loss and shame.

But was it really any challenge to beat a man who didn't know he was playing a game?

Poor foolish thing- what will happen to you when you discover that love isn't merely some past-time to be played?

You never were good at Solitaire- because your opponent beats you every time, leaves you utterly defeated.

Soon, all your cards are scattered on the floor, all your pieces will become chipped and your boards cracked in two.

Because you chose to play me, the larger game you have lost- you forfeited a friend who would have been there until you solved the puzzle of how to love yourself for you.