Games

This is a ballad I had to write for English. My teacher said it was incredibly amazing. That made me feel good.

My hands, though sweaty

curl into fists at my sides.

I swear to myself: I am ready.

And your heart? well it dies.

To be shackled by rage,

so much easier than pain.

I shove you to the ground,

giving in to the dissension.

While my fists pound and pound,

simply aching to relieve tension.

Your words are audacious; you love to test me

to the point where I lay, forever resting.

You swelter before me, flinching away

from a simple touch.

So I just cursed the day

that you didn't say quite enough.

You failed to depict me, and it was a shame.

I think you could have saved me, but you

had to win your game.

So I stole your blade,

and threw it out.

You do not deserve shade,

when the sun starts to shout.

And you do not deserve to bleed,

when it is really all you need.

Author's Note

You broke me.