The Player's Lament
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Fueled by my 3 AM coffee high, I couldn't help but pen this useless piece after doom-scrolling through the latest Filipino celebrity drama erupting in social media. The poem's alternative title "Sweaters and Smokes" would have aptly captured its central motifs, but eh, I didn't truly give two cents about the controversy so it is what it is.
In cozy sweaters, played with fire,
While smoke rings danced up high and higher;
Seven years of warmth I'd known,
Till her spark made me her own.
Through Italy, in knitted threads,
While cigarette smoke filled her head;
Each message wrapped in woolen lies,
As smoke and passion dims the skies.
The truth burned through, like raging coal,
As screenshots pierced my sweater's fold;
My comfort wear could not disguise
The burning guilt behind my eyes!
Now cold, without my shield of wool,
Two hearts I've turned to smoking pools;
No warmth can hide what I have wrought—
Through smoke and shame, I'm left distraught.
Like ashes scattered in the wind,
My sweaters torn, my soul has thinned;
No comfort clothes can warm this chill
Of hearts I broke, of trust I killed.
-
Copyright © I.A. Ryd | Year Posted 2024
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