The Game: a poem

BY MARCELLA DECOUD
Staff Writer

The game was played.

Their souls are dead,

Three are left sad.

Hearts hurting and breaking,

They are shaking with fear.

They feel alone.

As they remember waterfalls of blood.

The game they had played was broken.

Waiting for players to end up dead,

Thousands played whether together or alone.

She was losing herself,
In a few seconds, she would be gone.

She was alone.

Dreams were broken,

But there was one hope.

He couldn’t lose himself.

He couldn’t be broken.

He had to keep smiling.

He had to keep cheering, even though all hope was lost.

He would still be there for them even after witnessing the blood of his friends.

 

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