Dealing cards into bloodied hands,
It’s hard to forget who held your
Hand first. The ace has three prints
Across its face, the kings hearts
Bleeding red out of his bounds,
The joker smiling through gore
Because it doesn’t know what’s happening.
It doesn’t know what’s happening.

Razor sharp edges
Bleed into your knuckles;
The chips are flattering on the table
And the dealer, peering through
@ you through a mirror,
Smiles greedily as you play against the
Bathroom sink. Behind you, the toilet,
Long have quit,
Stays silent, blood over its face.

You lose and the sink is all that is left—

And the dealer,
Crying.