#fold
We played the hand that was dealt.
I went all in.
But you folded.
I never knew I needed a poker face
just to hide the sting of your surrender.
You cashed out early,
But why am I the one left paying the debt?
Jan 15
Jan 15, 2026 at 2:22 AM UTC
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Bitcoin saved, or bitcoin spent
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Come and join the Bitcoin fold
May 7, 2023
May 7, 2023 at 12:43 PM UTC
What is expected from me?
You were the half that chose to leave
I'll do my best
Be your friend
Even if leading to another dead end
Never thought we would wash up where we are
Two separate shores
Watching you from afar
Be truthful with me
That is what I most desire
Sick of the games
Frustrated
Tired
Fake way through a familiar apology
Promising to be the man I know you'll never be
Like a rolling dice
Have many faces
Expert at bluffing yet you're always holding aces
You gamble my love
About time you lose
My heart not an object to pull apart or use
I'm sick of betting my chips
The poorest hand
For you I go all-in
Don't even understand
I never was good at cards
At least that is what I'm told
Probably should cut my losses
Say farewell and finally fold
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
She got dealt a bad hand in life.
But she didn’t fold.
She kept playing.
She didn’t walk away from the table,
And leave the casino like she should have.
She keeps playing the hand life dealt her.
And she’s slowly going into debt.
Deeper in the game until one day she won’t be able to play anymore.
She’ll be out of money.
Out of cards.
I just pray it doesn’t come to that.
I want her to fold.
Leave the table.
Leave that lifestyle behind her.
Count her losses and move on with her life.
There’s more to life than that hand that life dealt her.
I just wish she could sober up long enough to see it.
I just wish she could see that there’s so much more to life than the hand that she was dealt.
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 12:16 PM UTC
in these days of sheltering on the isle-of-isolactation,
a place amazingly located just ‘bout everywhere,
staying occupado is muy importanto
taught myself Latvian, can identify a thousand Avian,
can vacuum the house in ten minutes flat,
can count my steps mentally walking from the bed
to the kitchen and on the way back again, detour via the den
when I get really bored, sneak away to grab the laundry
from the dryer, I’m on fire, desirous of my sanity, fold them twice,
so they’ll be enough nice to meet her exacting standards,
going directly into her highest level, Type A, storage drawers
but hit a snag, on certain articles of activewear, not to mention
you know, the unmentionables, which don’t present corners or angles
to lend novice folders directional cues, cannot even determine
which is inside out, or outside out, with too many bedeviling straps
too proud to ask for directions, after all I am a grown man,
checked youtube buddy, they had no clue, unless it was a tutorial
on how to remove them bodices from them body, which I will,
study later...but I winged it except for those couple of items
which I hid under her too many bed pillows!
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 5:54 PM UTC
On the creaking wooden chair in the corner, hanging on the scaffold, in the circular mirror, distorted and twisted and folding. It stands in the shadows. It lurks in the school playground while parents wait for their children, it’s a runaway train, and it’s the ink streaming down the window pane, it’s the clock melting inwards.
its golden fluidity and baby blue subtleties.
It’s the reason why you wake in the middle of the night,
gasping into darkness and grappling with loose ends... it was just a dream.
The reason you turn a corner just to look back behind you, why you double-take in the mirror, question where did I go?
Looking at nothing, staring into the bleak dark, it lurks. Awaits.
It waits in the form of a child holding a red balloon, staring into our blind spots.
Like shadows, when the sun rotates away from behind the playground wall you know, just then, now, in that full circle...
it’s about to run out.
You bend over backwards to relate to the moonlight dancing on the floor of its own reflections. It shows itself on beer bottles from better nights, you cross one leg over the other, position yourself,
folded linen.
Rushing to endless deadlines for nowhere o’clock, last call for the runaway train, struggling with human concepts.
You’re simply a sum of parts: an addition of flesh, limbs, old and broken battered bones, blind spots.
All the places you can’t see, can’t feel, can’t reach.
Loose ends meet themselves in the corner of that same old dusty room,
the folded linen crumples to the floor,
the red balloon bursts.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
We fight with all we have,
We lose the things that we never had.
Life is one submission after another,
We aim for one, but achieve the other.
We are all here standing,
Ready to take our number,
Completely unaware the we are all going under.
The will to fight is nothing but illusion,
The want to continue is born of confusion.
We all stand strong,
Yet in the end we fold.
We all talk a big talk,
But only our words are bold.
We can give up now,
And be forever content.
Or we can continue,
And be further broken and bent.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
you fold
blankets into ribbons of
light
(she folds
stars like spiderwebs
—
to catch you.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
jasmine jostles
leaves fold
I watch
steel and glass contain
assuaged by structure
the wind blows
but not here
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
i so desperately want to fold into myself
want to burn myself and make something of the ash
i feel like a great almost completed puzzle
expansive and vast
dull pieces
but still connected
now one piece has been taken from me and has been replaced
replaced by a misshapen mess in the guise a puzzle piece
and as i desperately try to shove it in its previous spot
i scream
and push my hands across the table
disconnecting the pieces in my plight
i can never be complete again
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
I make a lot of marks.
I'm good at making marks.
On paper.
On canvas.
On my skin.
I'm one of those people that folds the pages of a book.
(I hate those people too)
I searched for my place in this world
but it only confused me further.
So I decided to etch my own place.
Luckily,
I'm good at making marks.
I've made a lot of marks.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
As she
was nigh
round neighborhood
that she
wrought of
her social
discourse to
flaunt her
reflection with
nowhere sacred
only would
entail generation
of clout
as her
vale would
finally clot
her kind,
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
You open your eyes
to look
you do not see
you look
✦
You open your mouth
to talk
you do not speak
you talk
✦
You use your ears
to hear
you do not listen
you hear
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC