The Game

A game of tug-of-war that never ends
Digging your heels in
Rope burns on your hands
Almost slipping through your fingers
Your opponent’s laugh
Ringing through your ears
Dripping sweat
Struggling to regain control
Tightening your grip
Your muscles scream in protest
Falling into in mud
Crumbled and defeated
The rope drops to ground

Seeking your comfort
The familiar dull silver
That thing that so hate
But you can’t seem to turn away
Can’t seem to stop your shaking hand moving towards it
Can’t seem to stop your hand from grasping it
The dull silver meets skin
Blood is shed
You break down
Caught in a cycle
Can’t seem to stop
Addicted
More blood is shed
Then the game starts all over again

Reviews

[Pixidust]

Really really like this, the detail to pain is very apparent, the silver thing is a little confusing, but not to much to take away from your vivid imagery. Not sure if you meant to but when you say, "falling into in mud" the in doesn't seem necessary, that is also a poets choice though. Love you style of writing.

[Just Kim]

WOW such a powerful read here, dark too, I enjoyed this though. Very nicely written and expressed.