Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tires worn-out
leaving last week's traces of tears,
from a friend's mocking face-
breathing helplessly until dawn
expecting a display of meteors
from an unknown galaxy.
Counting 1, 2, 3-
hands are bleeding-slow
dripping of blood
spilling out.
A shed of tear falling
from grieving tear ducts-
ice turns to water as
flame turns to dust,
gold and silver have made their toss;
catching scratches of bronze,
dilapidated.
Skin's turning into hazy speckles,
Burning flames of heat eating you-
slowwwwwwwwwwwwwllly.
Covering faces with darkened souls,
seeing gallery of faces
at the podium time's running-
counting 3,2,1
green's waving-
a blotted color of red unveiled.
:written after being defeated in an online game:
The Cry of a Loser
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