Your Vile Game
Your mark once was distant,
Only adjacent to the center line would I encounter your blow.
Many a time I would escape your path,
And your formidable intentions would not be carried out.
But one becomes more proficient in a sport with augmented practice,
And soon no oversight of the target would there be.
No matter how outlying I was, you would still throw,
Your arm only rationalized by your own merciless soul.
Reiteratively I attempted to reason with your monstrous heart,
However each syllable my mouth articulated paid me with another ruthless strike.
As a singled out speck of water in the desert lies, I was companionless,
The only cursed life you would choose to demolish.
Not one unsound act had I bestowed upon you,
Yet from your hands I had earned an agglomeration of blows.
With each passing hour I lost sight of another cherished childhood reminiscence,
Stolen from me by your absolute yet corrupt aim.
Sometimes I dreamt about a ball briskly soaring toward me,
Lethal enough to permanently cease my distress.
Those dreams gifted upon me in the darkness of the night,
Though unsettle were the only bits of my existence where I could feel free.
© 2018 Larissa Lynch