Life is but a game.
You win. You lose.
You learn, and you choose.

It doesn't matter
When you are at
A corner
Trying to escape
From reality.

It is a churning
Crest.
A cluster of spec.

A valued piece.
A domino.
A fragile tease
Of what is to be known.

Frail.

A vortex of fear,
But a fountain of
A fruitful Lear.

You are but
A minor character
There to make a scene.
To see whose in vain
And whose insane.

The volouptious
Captious minds of
One's own thoughts.
Triangulating in
The midst of the sea.

  Because,

Life is violent
As it is bitter sweet.