A Losing Game


Old habits really do die hard,

And it makes me wish that I'd never started.

But, that was the past, and

A mistake I regret.

Though, it's taught me many lessons

That I'm not soon to forget:

Never leave scars

Where one's eyes

Are prone to wander

Unless you can stand

The looks that they'll give;

Never let yourself bleed

Before the others

Unless you really

Don't expect them

To forgive you;

Never assume you're in control,

Because the blade

Really is a narcotic.

And it sings a melody

So utterly enticing,

So beautifully melodic,

That it will soon sway your judgment;

Never start, in the belief that you can quit,

Because you'll never stop.

Don't deny the addiction

Once it's set in

Unless you're one to contradict yourself.

Never say it's just a game—

A game you can quit, and even win

At any time you choose,

Because the razor will turn deadly,

And, it's promise screams

You'll lose.

In fact, if you can help it,

Don't make the same mistake that I did.

Never go into it assuming

That you can just up and quit.

It really is an addiction,

A pill so bittersweet.

And once you start

I promise you:

It'll knock you off your feet.

Never start how I did,

Never think if you quit

You win.

Because I did, and I know,

That over the course of time,

To the urges you'll give in.

And, then the game starts over,

More violently than before,

Throwing in dimensions

That you didn't before explore.

You see, relapse is a nightmare,

And once you start again

The looming prospect of mortality

Slowly starts to sink in.

And then, in frantic agony,

To regain control

And revive the feeling

The blade brought at first,

You'll begin to rip at your veins

In a dangerously unquenchable thirst

Until the veins sheer open

And your blood

Paints flowers across the linoleum floor

So prettily, that for a moment

You'll actually forget

That you're mortal,

And that you're actually in pain,

Lying upon the cold

Bathroom tile

While a blood-soaked

Silver razor is squeezed desperately in your hand,

And your life is slowly draining

Just as all your blood before.

But, instead of relieving stress,

And draining worries,

It's taking something more.

And in your delerious, euphoric state

You won't realize until it's too late

That what once was a game to you

Has become your bloodied Fate.

As you lay cold and fading

Upon the crimson floor

And think, "It was just a game.

I only ever started

With every intention to win."

But you will never win,

Because the razor cheats

Making your moves for you

And not letting you choose.

Therefore, ultimately,

The only thing that's certain

Is that you will lose.


L. Kantenseter