Notes About The Poem
Entry for the Scary Stories Cash Prize Poetry Contest: Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
Players
The two stared at one another
both knew something that the other
didn’t; that was the game; the rules
by which they play, and played, the fools.
The putrid stench beneath their feet,
that those who went before excrete,
impregnates their skin to slow taint
their rotting ankles, in restraint;
for there is no escape, save one;
one word divides those lost or won.
They chose to play this game, these two,
paid their dues, later joined the queue.
The fun soon turned to anger, hate
vile intercourse, spitting raw debate
the scratching of old wounds, new scars
what's old, what's new, what's mine, what's ours!
Blood slowly seeps from bites by rat
lapped greedily by purring cat,
two squawking rooks, and buzzing flies
that crawl around their staring eyes
hatched from their own fetid waste;
two lovers, gamers, now debased
They thought they'd easy win this game;
but neither ever named the name.
And so the two they sit and stare
at their flaking skin, falling hair
disintegration of each face
ever locked in death's embrace.
He watches with an evil smirk;
this couple in their deathly cirque;
both rotting from without, within;
both guilty of a deadly sin!
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