I looked upon the mirror
In vein, I see myself
And a pitter-patter
Of rain hitting the floor.
The rain's flow quickly thrums,
Fingers held disjointed.
A tinkling on the ground-
Broken glass left pointed.
---
Sitting on the hardwood floor,
Playing a game of chance.
Pair shook in hand, let them fall;
I'm watching the dice dance.
They both fell to a one,
I guess I'll see it through
Despite my terrible luck-
As I struck: One, two.
I picked them up and dropped
Them down again to the floor,
But I guess my luck stopped as
I stared at the dice once more:
Two. The lowest number.
Again, I'll see it through,
Despite my terrible fate-
As I sate: One, two.
I felt cheated, unrest-
My thirst could not be quenched.
Is this fate at its best?
Yet hands gripped, unclenched.
Snake eyes again, staring-
Maybe I should start anew.
Despite my fear inside,
I abide: One, two.
I could not fathom what had
Occured to me on this night.
Had a saint bowed down and
Tried to rid me of this blight?
My addiction ran course through fate and chance-
So for this night, the dice have their last dance.
i want to try write one about the external world one day
that second one, taken out of the context of the poem, could be skirting a rule idk