Oh, the luck that
isn't making it's way over.
Even though I'm begging
and trying,
begging and dying to win.
There's something 
in this sin that keeps me
within it's gate.
Fake myself and
waste the days 
I should be enjoying.
But I'm employing
the skills to bury it all,
stand tall in the face
of dangerous dabbling.
Processing common cowering
away from the jump-off point,
the whole dis-jointed mess
is apparent.