It was your distinguishing motifs, that pulled me in,
Your intricate patterns I longed to admire, and distinguish.
You were conveniently easy to handle,
One chance and a shuffle,
In hope to build a structure that I irrationally thought would be strong.
Yet, somehow, you have become a memory sport,
As your many faces now fall around me.
I am only left to ponder the realities, the dreams,
None of which suit the ass move you played,
Dealing me this losing hand,
To which I can only quietly fold.