𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺

Poker, For The Millionth Time

"And I'm scared,"
It's always the last excuse—
The true excuse at that.

There's nothing but fear stopping me,
if it was anything else—
boy would I wish it was something else.

You treat me so nice,
just like the rest,
and the rest never truly cared to be good sets.

I can't just let you in,
I don't trust so easily anymore—-
But what does it matter, if I want to trust you?

It's so conflicting,
and for no good fucking reason—
Because fear is seemed as irrational.

Fear comes from something,
may it be irrational or not,
there's a past behind it, bad cards at that.

"Happiness is a country with no past,"
Erase mine then,
give me a clean slate—

But no, I won't know how to trust.
All my game lessons learned,
forgotten for nothing but what may be another failure.

It may not be—
Shut up you stupid bitch,
can't you see this is the same thinking you do every time?

I can't live in fear.
But you can have some common sense,
that maybe you shouldn't trust so easily in poker faces such as those.

Yet it seems like every time I try not to,
it still ends badly,
only to lose again.

So why does it matter now?
It's no different—
the cards seems to be on my favor.

God knows your as dumb as your mother!
Because he's nice,
doesn't mean you go gamble on your feelings.

Yet no matter what I tell myself,
I'll still end up at the casino,
telling myself: "It's different now."