there's an obsession that i cannot quit. every night the gamble comes to me dressed as black as the holocaust. in a sound that is both a raspy echo and a mournful whisper, his warm fingers glide down my face as he tells me that i have died a martyr, and he will weep for me and love me forever.
shuffle, cut, and deal. this is how i killed the others. he watches me from inches away in such deafening silence. when he breathed down my skin for the first time, my wining streak ended...for that i would never lose
