She clings to hope by her toes,
Balancing precariously on a high wire
Over a tank of faceless creatures which, malicious, whisper
"He'll never love you."
Somewhere below, he is watching.
She knows it.
His hand alone loosely holds the strings
To her humanity,
Mortality,
Relative sanity.
The creatures, with eyes like oil spills, hiss
"To him, you are just
Another game."
Deep in her internal destruction, she closes her eyes
And smiles.
"As long as he keeps playing."