"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
Fate has shown the ace of spades,
and dealt me from the game.
It laughs as all my hope just fades,
then kicks me till i’m lame.
To hurt would be too kind on me,
instead I am made numb.
To cry would let my pain be free,
and yet my eyes are dumb.
My bones are ash, all burnt and grey
a handfull to a careful palm.
Each piece of me emits decay,
but not enough to harm.