I give up.
the pieces I've tried to pick,
have broken down further.
Kintsukuroi could never reshape this vase of my heart.
the gut-wrenching glee of reliving it,
the shivers, the goosebumps, the pupils;
all longing for nothing but love.
extorting it in its entirety,
all to feed my hopeless, selfish, and lonely self.
sixty feet away;
my chafed, frailing pins,
longing for me to fail,
little did they know,
it was the end of the game
and I still chose to bowl.
I thought I was healing,
with what I was receiving.
I felt something, I finally felt something.
only to realize,
this time the ball I bowled,
would spin into a strike.
did I lose or win?
no one could dig my tale,
as I decided to never show
the side of me that was real,
ecstatic and a little lame.
my balance shook;
as the heart decided:
'twas time to outweigh the brain.'
the heavier it became,
the more it felt decapitated.
like my brain had a body of its own,
beheaded.
temporarily, it felt lighter,
as the weight transferred,
from either side of a scale.
now, in disguise of this wispy mind,
I seemed to lose it every single time.
so I cheat like a vendor.
adding weight on the other side of the scale.
the balance was restored in no time;
but my heart, imploding with guilt,
loses this beguiling wartime.