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You Could've Won

Poetry is turning out to be a very cathartic medium, I should do this more often.

Set the Mood

Reach out for help, and save everyone!

Reach out for help, and save everyone!

Bitter pacing tearing holes in the liquefying rug,

As I sit and watch upon a seat made of spiteful nails.

Soles of their feet grinding down to a red pulp,

Spite piercing my skin as I laugh tauntingly.


Sinking ever deeper into the floor of hate,

Their body dissolves as they lash out at me.

A swift kick to the teeth but they won’t stop,

Deeper do the nails sink and rust in my body.


Panic sets in as their mouth fills with resentment,

Drowning in their own words willfully strewn forth.

Black blood streams from my rusted wounds,

Appeasement of the monster within drowns the agony.


They’re gone now as the room continues to fill,

The smell of rot emerges as I stagnate lonely.

This is the product of winning through their loss,

Coming second in death is still finishing life last.


Tears from the self-proclaimed victory fall silent,

Smiles turn to frowns as I sink the nails in deeper.

The exit was there for us both to see,

The sign above it said “Love and acceptance!”


These spiteful nails have dug too deep,

I can’t stand to my blood-soaked feet.

I’ll drown here in my short-lived victory,

As the exit disappears beneath the rot we created.

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