Monday, February 13, 2012

An 18 Line Bet

Cards hit the table
Chips fall and scatter
One man smiles, the rest drop
Drained and empty
Slowly they trickle from game
He shut the door to his room
Slumped against the door
Years of filth weigh heavy on his skin
Struck, he rises and,
Moved to be clean,
Lowers himself into the tub
Then he turns the faucets
And the tears pour, salty,
Down his scarred face
Stinging the wounds as they cleanse
The tub fills with dirt and memories
He slides lower, the water crawls up
Til he drowns beneath his tears

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