A room so dark but full of opportunity,
hidden in plain sight.
Misty smoke covers my eyes
forcing me to fold
one away from the prize.
Fuelling hate in my mind
it’s me or them I cannot decide.
Take a seat at the table
Here we join the famous eight,
all hungry for more
each player for them self.
The stakes got higher
and so did the tension
for this would break the famous eight.
Now I fend for myself
amongst the mist,
round after round no luck.
I lost the smile on my face
and grew tired of this space.
You failed to see me bluffing
behind my poker face.
One year of losing
hit me in a certain place,
let’s just say I no longer feel my face.
Like the mist in my eyes
you shine bright and it
and it angers me.
Full of hate I contemplate,
I must get out of this place
my round will come eventually.
By Callum Ashworth
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