At A Game You Thought Yours...

Fill this man with dulled gold, Pry his riches of vocality from his lips. Feel his heartbeat as it rises and dips, The groan from him as the room grows cold.

He misses the hair she had. He misses the kisses of passion. He longed till he grew sad. Then he marred himself in grotesque fashion.

Let her flee, Root like a tree. Scream into the abyss, About what you miss.

Branches rot, Roots get eaten, By the ground you get caught; By her: you are beaten.