Pondering Of A Poet

Game Over

Did you think I was going to jump like a pretty little puppet on a string?

Perhaps you thought I would ask you to stay?

For a short time, I was your favorite play thing.

You didnt string me on for long.

Under all the fabricated words, I could see all your colorful lies.

The pathetic disguise you played out in your deranged mind.

You twist things to how you  perceive them to be.

There's no normalcy in anything that falls from your viperous tongue.

You try to manipulate for your own amusement.

But when the game gets challenging and you fall behind, you run.

When the tables are turned it's no longer fun.

Perhaps it's your turn to dance on the end of the strings.

You think your the ringmaster of games?

Your more like a court jester.

Only there shortly to entertain. 

Not respected, nor particularly talented.

Certainly no fame.

As you sit alone contemplating how things could of been.

Just know you have yourself to blame.

I moved on and am gone for good.

You played and lost at your own game.

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