thediaryofawriterr:

The clench of a fist
Head down, bent knees.
Tired soles, tired souls.

The taste of defeat
Seeping in, Taking over
Lost chance, lost chants.

A game well played
Blood, sweat and tears

Its funny how all that separates can and can’t,
is one tiny letter, and a speck no one stops to see.

Oh, the games that play us.

(Source: messagestothemoon)