FicWad

We sing of sin with our pretty little hands,
Fingertips worn to red, spilling tears of misread plans,
We play our cards to win them back,
We fall down at the touch of a sudden attack,
Eyes we will shut with our final breaths,
Fragile little petals with nothing else left,
We throw down our cards and pick up the deck,
We collapse to the floor, a tearful, broken wreck,
Crack a smile and then crack a bone,
Fake a smile so they’ll leave you alone,
We shuffle the deck and ask for a rematch,
Best of three, but the win we won’t snatch,
We lose again and again but we continue to fight,
There’s a small amount of hope that says we can make it right,
We lose each rematch, but begin to smile,
Our bleeding hands move swiftly for a while,
From these cards we have fashioned a sharpened tool,
One that can save us from what we believe is cruel,
We take our cards and stab them into your throat,
And away, on our tears, you shall surely float,
We saw from your eyes that you thought you had won,
But now, don’t you see, the fight is done,
We take our tools and cut open our necks,
No happy ending for those who live by the deck.