Three seconds left
There’s no timeouts remaining.
The fans are full of resentment
With hope surely waning.

The ball bounces against the floor,
Repetitious with its nature.
Congruence with each ascension,
Life gasps for air with this momentous suspension.

There’s nothing that can be changed or rearranged.
Nothing to help, nothing to hurt,
Unexplainable anxiety as you slowly tear your shirt.

A bounce,
A roll,
A movement,
A fall.
An exorbitant amount of disbelief.

The stopping clock brings a new sound.
A collapsed heart, and a detached soul,
The new demeanor now begins to take its toll.

It’s the end of all of this noise,
And all of this hope.
No longer precariously wavering upon this rope.

It’s snapped, it’s different, no longer the same.
If only this was about a game.