when you're playing the wrong game |
your life has become a game of three card monte and game is rigged— no matter how slow the dealer moves, the red card disappears and you are left with sand filled eyes and an itchy throat. you want to escape. events are conspiring to lessen you, each so small, so insignificant, but the accumulation empties you. you want the thumbtack darts to stop their steady barrage. there is no portion of your psyche unmarred. you bleed from every pinprick hole. so there comes a moment more soon than you want when you can’t do it anymore. you are finished. the oscillations of your stomach— expanding, contracting, creeping up your throat— are too much to bear. but when you throw in your cards, the dealer cries checkmate— and you’re lost. line count: 28 Prompt ▼ |