It's all a game, this exchange of words that flatter. The rules are simple, to win the game you must break their hearts. If they call you silly, think them gullible for believing you are so naive. Lips brushing lips is just a taste, a warning for greater things to come. Greater pain, devastating heartbreak and rage. Keep your shoulders back and your poker face on at all times. Falter once and you have lost. Fall too far and there is no chance in getting back up again. Don't get caught up with them, they could turn this game around, leaving you with the broken heart and tear washed face. You're remembered by your number, names don't stay in mind long once your face is forgotten. Stay on top, with Cupid's broken arrows, it's all a sport; for whats love without a war? Their heart matters not, only their angelic face counts when selecting the prey. Make them fall victim first, else they'll pierce your heart with sharpened claws. Get their king in check mate and you've finally conquered, you've won the game.