This was written after a writing prompt to write something about 2 people "playing" each other ...
He makes his first move as smooth as the skin he's seducing.
But like one of her reptilian locks the smooth skinned Medusa makes her move slow and venomous
His lips speak words more convincing than her own conscious
However, his eyes take her bate quicker than any fish.
He is the definition of foolish and she is his synonym
Releasing their love into chance, the dice tumble as the players carefully try to move farther from home.
They take turns pulling cards from the deck, holding lies lust and mistrust in their hands.
He pulls, then moves. She pulls, then moves, in this tug-o-war game of give n take
But when they both draw the card that says "Sorry go back to start"
The cliché phrase "why do I always fall for your type?" scrolls across the jumbo-tron as they're benched from this game they've got so caught up in.
They moved from red shirts to All American veterans faster than a Bugatti with an engine injected with blood straight from Usain Bolt.
They didn't realize they're as fake as the Monopoly $ they make rain on their game of LIFE
You see, this type they're falling for is the same face staring back at them in the mirror... A Player.
The face of a player made up in collage of the face cards they pulled holding lies, lust and mistrust
If they were honest like Abe, and real like Jordans, they'd see the truth clear like visine.
He makes his first move as smooth as the skin he's seducing.
But like one of her reptilian locks the smooth skinned Medusa makes her move slow and venomous
His lips speak words more convincing than her own conscious
However, his eyes take her bate quicker than any fish.
He is the definition of foolish and she is his synonym
Releasing their love into chance, the dice tumble as the players carefully try to move farther from home.
They take turns pulling cards from the deck, holding lies lust and mistrust in their hands.
He pulls, then moves. She pulls, then moves, in this tug-o-war game of give n take
But when they both draw the card that says "Sorry go back to start"
The cliché phrase "why do I always fall for your type?" scrolls across the jumbo-tron as they're benched from this game they've got so caught up in.
They moved from red shirts to All American veterans faster than a Bugatti with an engine injected with blood straight from Usain Bolt.
They didn't realize they're as fake as the Monopoly $ they make rain on their game of LIFE
You see, this type they're falling for is the same face staring back at them in the mirror... A Player.
The face of a player made up in collage of the face cards they pulled holding lies, lust and mistrust
If they were honest like Abe, and real like Jordans, they'd see the truth clear like visine.
They would understand the strategy to win the game
is to stop playing, because in love there are no rules. And they would no longer have to ask "Why
do I always fall for your type?"
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