My sort of thing

You play the girls like its a game.
half the time i bet you don't even
know their name.
knowing this though i still find
myself caught up.
I'm with your "best" friend,
although you broke us up before,
but then once you got me,
you walked right out my door.
you hurt me,
made me hurt him,
what was it all for,
the triumphant win?
the victory,
the game,
does it really matter that it hurt,
or is it another level to your sick
game?
your such a jerk.
you tell me that you still think of
me,
that I'll always be something to you,
but then to prove my point ill tell
them what you do.
when you see me you look at me,
as if you wish id go away,
the only time you talk to me,
is on the phone every other 5 days.
you feed me lines,
and for some reason i bite,
is it your will to make me sit here
alone at night?
why do you have to come around,
its like you tell me things to make
me see,
to try to tell me there's something
more to you and me.
but I'm telling you now stop playing
this game,
your just not my sort of thing.