You

IS this your idea of a game?
Pretending to love me?
Making me blind with pain,
Making me finally see.

Your breaking me down.
Than building me up,
Endless deadly tears,
In a broken paper cup.

To you I am imperfection,
Nothing more than mould,
And I really hate to admit it,
But you still have me in your hold.

~I wrote this poem ages ago...but I still like it a lot~