Wrapped Around Your Finger

Maybe I'll write you a love story because you stilldon't notice me, a circle of words within words where my twisted motives are wrapped around your little finger. They'll be entwined so tightly that the blood supply will stopped. The ivory tip of your digit will suffer, the control, the one you always query, is hurting you now.
The false smiles and the painfully drawn out gazes sting us both because I know I am nothing but a decoy. A sitting duck waiting for the pain of your glory. The impatience of constant waiting in the shadow of your uncertainty has become oppressive and yet I still reach for the love story hoping desperately that a year will provide that third act, longed and dreamed for twist.