I wrote a poem. I don’t do it often because I’m pretty sure I’m rubbish at it. It’s called ‘games’.
My head plays games, as it rolls the dice
It lands in jail, I have to pay the price.
Every move of my mind a chance,
Every move I lose more,
Pay the pied piper, this game is a chore.
My head plays games, a bad hand in my life,
Next card is a joker to add to my strife.
Make the wrong call every time,
Too few numbers at just twenty-nine,
No chips to cash in, maybe that’s the sign.
My head plays games, every game missing a piece,
A puzzle with no corners,
No point going on, but doesn’t know how to cease.
It lies and cheats to beat me,
Flips the board when it’s not winning,
A game of Russian roulette against myself,
There’s a chance my head won’t ever stop spinning.