A/N: Ok, this is not a real occurance. This poem came from me imagining a bunch of young, gothic girls playing jump rope in a raining old-style playground. This was the rhyme i think they might sing...

Master

Turning, Spinning, Waiting, Coughing.
Laughter cold in my ears, so mocking.

Running, Chasing, Dead and Dying.
You get closer, can you hear me Crying?

Stumbling, Tripping, Collapsing, Fainting.
My life is a gift, yours for the taking.

Laughing, Crowing, Crawling, Cheering.
You come closer, not a pause in Jeering.

Touching, Cutting, Branding, Claiming.
You make me yours, my soul is forsaking.

Left, Gone, Three cuts Three.
You are now the master of me.