love
that cannot be satisfied by
one-night-stands
or
unconditional devotion
or
anything in between.
My heart is a black hole,
devouring every morsel of
attention it is given,
expecting more
(always more) from
genuine smiles and
halfhearted displays of affection.
All the love in the world
is not enough
for my gluttonous soul.
Worse yet, I delight in playing puppet master,
delicately manipulating the
heart strings of my conquests
with the precision of
a classically trained harpist
(or rather harpy)
yet I am caught forever
off-guard when
they are displeased that I am
the one behind the curtain,
playing them for fools.
They at least can take solace in having
the last laugh,
walking away from the once-detached
gamemaker
who, like Pygmalion,
has fallen in love with her creation.